


Kings Union Vol. II

by Cazio, TheJotunPoleDancer



Series: The Kings Series [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 169,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJotunPoleDancer/pseuds/TheJotunPoleDancer
Summary: Damen and Laurent face the difficult task of uniting two kingdoms, creating a new capital, and planning the royal marriage that will define a new age. Just as the wedding comes within reach, a new suitor appears who threatens to upend it all.Roleplay format, updates every Sunday.
Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince), Laurent/OC, Lazar/Pallas (Captive Prince)
Series: The Kings Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739758
Comments: 126
Kudos: 106





	1. Part I - Fynn (10.05.20)

**Author's Note:**

> this is an archive of something we do for fun. things like characterizations, plotlines, etc are fluid and will be molded and shaped through our RP, and while we will try to edit major mistakes we see before posting, consider this “raw writing.” there will be OC’s and probably some book things forgotten in the course of it all. occasionally when one character is out of commission (ie. knocked out, captive, otherwise outside of the story) the other person will pick up other characters to continue the story until Damen/Laurent returns. 
> 
> tags/warning will be edited as they arise, but just a heads up for everyone, we usually have a lot of angst but plenty of fluff too. and we can promise that Laurent and Damen will survive all of the turmoil, try as we might to destroy their lives in other ways. We intend not to do anything worse than anything that’s happened already in the books, but no guarantees. 
> 
> We are not looking for constructive criticism on our writing. We’re just here to have some fun and share the Lamen love.
> 
> Laurent = thejotunpoledancer  
> Damen = cazio
> 
> If you're just starting, it'd probably be a good idea to read Vol. I first! :) 

“His Grace, Herzog of Kempt,” a herald announced.

“Your Majesty,” the man said, and Damen cursed inwardly. He sounded as handsome as he looked. He dipped his head to Laurent, then to Damen. “Exalted.”

The duke’s smile continued, only for Laurent. And now a laugh. “Do you not remember me, Laurent? It’s Fynn,”

Damen blinked. The man’s accent was so thick that he could only understand some of the words.

“What is he saying?” Damen asked in Akielon. “Who is he?”

The man’s smile turned to Damen now, but it became closed-lipped. “I am Fynn,” the man said in accented Akielon, but his grammar was flawless. His voice lowered,

“I am sorry to say it for your sake, but I have come to court your betrothed.” He looked to Laurent, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I have not announced it as my intention to you people, of course, but that is my intention.”

He switched to the Veretian dialect Damen couldn’t hope to understand before he continued,

“Your brother wished it. That is why I am here, to fulfill a promise. I should like to speak with you about it in private after our meal, if you would have me.” He swallowed, and Damen only saw red. “It…it is very good to see you. I am only sorry I did not come sooner, to perhaps save some of the theatrics."

* * *

Laurent steeled himself for the silence, not at all trusting it as Damen had not. The chiton was short, but it was not so brazen a look that it warranted a silence like this. Laurent’s hand squeezed Damen’s in return, mind focused, body ready for a fight that he was not dressed for—

Only for his mind to momentarily lapse, and his body to slacken.

Fynn.

He knew him well before he stood, well before he moved closer, and even far before he felt the need to remind Laurent of who he was. Laurent had not seen him since he was thirteen - at the ceremony of Auguste’s life and death, no less - but Laurent /knew/ Fynn. He remembered sneaking about the palace with Fynn, remembered Fynn reading books with him, training with him, teaching him things in the arena that Auguste would not in fear of injuring his brother. He remembered Fynn and Auguste, the days in the hot springs, remembered Fynn telling Auguste his ‘kid brother’ could come along when they went on hunts, small trips out on the land.

Laurent remembered wanting to impress Fynn- his brother’s closest friend.

He remembered /Fynn/.

Fynn had aged beautifully. He and Auguste had been the same age, and Laurent was suddenly reminded that Auguste, too, would have aged beautifully - especially if /this/ was how Fynn turned out.

Laurent needed two reminder, but he did need to be snapped back into the present, to…fully…

What had he said?

Laurent stared blankly at Fynn, eyes a fraction wider than usual, jaw slack, but not open. Laurent did not usually show his emotions as they were, but anyone standing close enough would be able to read this as ‘shocked.’

/What/ was he supposed to do about /this/?

“Fynn,” Laurent finally spoke up in a greeting, his hand squeezing Damen’s again for…some reason he couldn't even focus on. “We should…discuss this after dinner, yes.” Laurent put on a calm exterior, but inside, he was a maelstrom of a storm of thoughts, emotions, of memories. It was….not unlike seeing Damen for the first time, but with much, /much/ less rage. He spoke matter-of-factly, but…it was not his usual voice he used in court. There was something soft there, not entirely impersonal. "The King of Akielos and I have just returned from a hunt, and we are in need of sustenance, but please do sit with us. We will discuss these matters after.”

Oh, what the /fuck/ was he supposed to do about /this/?

* * *

Fynn felt as though it had been a thousand lifetimes since he’d last seen Laurent. It might as well have been—the dark time in which they had last seen each other was so different than all of the others. The sun between them had extinguished, and they had come to mourn it together. Fynn would have come even if he wasn’t obligated as part of the royal court of Kempt.

He was a man now, far from the round cheeks and devilish smile of a boy that Fynn remembered. He had always liked Laurent, maybe even loved him in the way adolescents can. Laurent had actually liked him, enough so that August had not been all that quiet about his intention for Fynn to one day court his brother. Of course, the most obvious of those intentions was stillin Fynn’s pocket, kept abreast so that no one could tear this from him.

He did not understand how Laurent could love the man who had taken August from them. Damianos was just as striking and powerful as Fynn had heard, but he was still a princekiller. Vere was coming to like him (reluctantly), and since it was so obvious that Laurent had true affection for him, Fynn decided to keep his opinions to himself.

Damianos looked like he might collapsed, his face switching from anger to shock to despair over and over again. Fynn hoped that whatever spell Damianos had cast would leave Laurent now, because Fynn had every intention of leaving here having fulfilled his promise to Auguste. But he had been raised to be diplomatic in every situation, so he merely smiled.

“I will then, thank you,” he said, bowing his head yet again.

Damen could not understand what was happening. Laurent looked shocked—openly shocked—and yet had not cut this man down to size. Had not laughed in his face for daring to admit he intended to /court/ Laurent! Surely everyone saw how ridiculous this was. Akielos and Vere had been planning this union for over two years, and now this /duke/ appears and suddenly it is not so certain?

Damen could see that Laurent knew Fynn, but since he couldn’t understand what Fynn had said in his mishmash of Kemptian and Veretian, Damen had missed the key part of the conversation.

Damen nodded stiffly, waiting for Fynn to return to his seat (which took far too long).

“Do not leave me in the dark,” Damen whispered. “What has he said to you? Did he threaten you?"

* * *

All eyes went from Fynn taking his seat, to Laurent and Damen shaking theirs. The moment they were in their chairs, food began to arrive on platters, bringing some noise into the room that Laurent could finally hear over the pounding of his heart. He hid it well now that he had sat, now that he knew all eyes were on him and he could /not/ react in front of all of these people. He needed to act as if it were perfectly normal to have all of /this/ happening to him. Fynn was only trying to court him mere months away form his wedding that would unite both Vere and Akielos after years at war because Auguste had told Fynn to do so.

It was fine.

Everything would be fine.

“He did not threaten me,” Laurent assured Damen, tight-lipped as he threw his napkin over his lap. His newly bare lap with the length of the chiton.

He’d reacquainted himself to Fynn in a c _hiton_. He wondered how the Kemptian would take that…

“He told me precisely what he told you,” Laurent told Damen in a half-truth, sipping his water and catching Fynn’s eye once or twice. He turned his gaze back to Damen. “He wants to discuss his offer after dinner, and I will give him audience.” He had not been able to talk about Auguste in so long. He had not been able to have anything that had to do with his long-gone youth in years. It would be a brief journey back and that was all. That was all.

But Damen - blessed Damen - would not see it that way. And Laurent knew that.

“You need not worry,” he told his betrothed, adjusting his napkin for the third time. Was he fidgeting? “We will venture to see Auguste’s grave, I am certain, and then he will be on his way. That is all."

* * *

Laurent was /lying/ to him. Any fool could see that Fynn had not just repeated what he had said in Akielon—he had said something deliberately for Damen not to hear. And whatever it was, Laurent didn’t want him to hear it either. And Damen knew that audience would not include him. He smarted, but decided not to be angry. Anything that concerned Auguste was going to be imrpotant to Laurent, and this handsome duke appearing out of nowhere clearly has a history with him.

“I hope so,” was all Damen said. He had never thought about what would happen if Laurent decided to leave him for someone else. Perhaps in the beginning, but with their wedding so close…he had never imagined anything like this.

Fynn did his best not to listen, but since he understood Veretian and Akielon easily, it was hard not to. Damianos would lose this fight, though it was clear he did not think it. Fynn had known Laurent since they were children, until their duties had taken them elsewhere. Away from each other. Fynn had always assumed that Laurent never thought of him anymore, and perhaps that was true. But Laurent was also supposed to marry a woman and produce heirs.

“I’m looking forward to the result of this competition I have heard so much about,” Fynn said, deciding to break the silence before it became uncomfortable. “Both kingdoms are so excited, I haven’t seen Veretians so enthralled since…how old were we when they brought the camels? You couldn’t have yet been ten.”

* * *

The competition—

_The competition._

Laurent had nearly forgotten about the entire thing when he’d seen Fynn there, had gotten so lost in his memories that the present was so easily forgotten. Laurent cleared his throat, took another sip of water...that emptied his cup. A servant was quick to run in and refill it, which meant there was yet another set of eyes on Laurent.

He squared his shoulders, straightened his posture, a look of cool grace on his face, as was expected of him.

“I was eight,” Laurent replied in Kempt, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips as he recalled the memory. Luckily, he soon after ‘recalled’ to repeat it to Damen in Veretian. He didn’t want to risk bad Akielon right now. “There were camels brought when I was eight,” he informed Damen, and then, to the two of them in Veretian. “And Fynn told me it would be ‘just as simple as riding a horse.’” Laurent tossed a doubtful look over to Fynn.

“And I fell off.”

And he’d refused to cry despite it. He’d not been hurt, but merely embarrassed. Auguste had scooped him up, brushed him off, checked over him for any injuries, but Laurent had only been shaken. August’s had spun him round, and when Laurent, dizzied, fell again, the crown prince of Vere had fallen right into the dirt beside him.

His father had been cross with the both of them.

Laurent could not think of this. He could not _think_ like this. Not here. Not now.

“And what do you know of our competition?” Laurent asked, casting a glance over to Damen, gauging his mood.

* * *

Damen had never seen Laurent like this around a stranger. Relative stranger, anyway. He was /nervous/, fidgeting and talking in a way that Damen wasn’t used to. Surely Laurent would have told him about Fynn before if he was so important, but…

Not many people had cared about the lesser son of a king. It had driven Kastor to murder, betrayal, destruction of his own home, his own brother. Fynn had obviously cared for him, or Laurent would have laughed him out of the room. So they had shared something then. Damen was beginning to think there was something about Laurent’s life he hadn’t been told about.

“You survived,” Fynn said, grinning around a sweetmeat.

Fynn remembered the day well, and he also remembered how Auguste had chased him around the palace for almost an hour, spitting curses at him for putting Laurent in danger. Fynn had known all along that Laurent wouldn’t be hurt, and many had commended his bravery in trying to ride the strange beast at the time.

“Word was sent to me about it,” Fynn said as he continued eating. “I didn’t realize you were even in Arles. Last I heard, you were in Marlas for your coronation. I would have visited sooner had I known, but I suppose a Herzog of Kempt has no right to know about the movements of the Veretian King.”

King. Fynn was stil coming to terms with the loss of Auguste, even after all this time. But he was proud that Laurent had taken the throne, that the Regent had never claimed it.

Damen sat in silence, picking at his meal. he didn’t feel excluded—yet—but he did feel that he was intruding.

“Perhaps some wine will help settle you,” Damen murmured as he reached for a glass himself. He’d been close enough to Laurent to know when he was faking it. Pretending to be calm. He wished he had a language to speak that Fynn couldn’t understand. Instead he just sat, trying not to make a scene, though he very much wanted to drive this Fynn from the kingdom.

* * *

Word had been /sent/ to Fynn about the competition. What an interesting play, undoubtedly by Mathe, who had been around when Laurent was a child to perhaps see something that would benefit him here, now. Though, Laurent supposed, Mathe had not been the only councillor around in those years. It was devious, a clear plot to rid of the Akielon union by way of Laurent’s childhood heart.

But they’d crushed that long ago. Laurent would not fall for it.

He dismissed Damen’s offer of wine, sipping his water pointedly instead. “I am in no need of wine,” Laurent assured Damen, a bit more confidently. Damen could see through him like glass, but his honesty here was welcome. Laurent would do better, and now that he knew this was certainly a ploy, it would be much easier to coast through this.

Crafty Mathe....

“I would not take our lack of correspondence personally, Fynn,” Laurent assured Fynn, but his tone did not suggest dismissal despite what he had learned of Fynn’s arrival. “Your king -“ Laurent’s grandfather. “-made a decision many years ago to have nothing to do with Vere. We do not send many messengers your way as things stand.”

“But you did catch us at a good time,” Laurent added, and for Laurent in a non-court setting, /this/ was talkative. “We travel quite often up and down the country.”

* * *

“Well, I try to keep tabs on you,” Fynn said with a shrug. “It is admittedly difficult with the relationship between our kingdoms but…I hope we can change that.” He certainly thought a partnership between Kempt and Vere was much more fitting than Vere and Akielos. The people would see that too.

“Regardless of what comes of this, I plan to tell Kempt about how the kingdom has prospered under your rule, Laurent, as it clearly has.” he smiled again. “I’ve been here two days and it’s wonderful how much things have changed. It’s very nice to see.”

Damianos obviously didn’t like hearing that—he looked about ready to explode in the silence. Fynn hadn’t thought it would be so easy to convince the arrogant king of Akielos that he had the slightest chance of stealing away his betrothed. That meant their relationship might very well be a ploy, some kind of political game, or some kind of…power play.

He couldn’t yet tell if it was Damianos or Laurent who held the cards.

Damen, for his part, couldn’t understand anything of what was just said, and he was getting more and more furious by the second. He couldn’t believe how brazen Fynn was being, how insulting this was. And Laurent was entertaining it!

“I think I should check on my men,” Damen said in Akielon, but he didn’t move to stand. “You two obviously have much to discuss."

* * *

Two days! Fynn had been here for two days, waiting on Laurent and Damen to return. They’d been in the throes of Soren and Lamen then, all while Fynn sat here and, what? Learned his information of Vere from Mathe? Laurent was not so sure as to /what/ Fynn had heard in his time here. Laurent couldn’t say he trusted it.

“I do not know that Kempt would hold much regard to how my rule is running,” Laurent told Fynn, scratching the skin just under the cuff he shared with Damen. “But I do hope you are standing well. I have heard...virtually nothing of your coast, but I would assume it is still thriving?”

Kempt was a waypoint for trading, with a massive port for goods from all over. They also had fleets upon fleets of boats, wood that was more viable for building, no shortage of food both land and sea for their people. Vere had lost much when they lost Queen Hennike. Laurent had not forgotten the taste of crab, brought from Kempt when he was a child.

Laurent turned back to Damen when he threatened to leave, and without hesitation, Laurent reached out to take Damen’s hand, stilling him with a whispered, “Stay.”

Eyes were on them. Laurent cleared his throat and held Damen’s hand tight under the table.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

“We have many years to explore, yes,” Laurent agreed, thumbing the back of Damen’s hand. “But we will do that in the time after dinner. You can check on your men then.” For now, Damen would have to play nice with their visitor. They could benefit greatly from his geniality.

“Your Akielon,” Laurent decided to address in an attempt to bring Damen and Fynn together in conversation. “Where did you learn? It is even better than my own.”

* * *

“Kempt may not currently, but I do,” Fynn said, watching Laurent intently. He had mourned the loss of Vere as a trade ally, and not just because his family had been one of the larger Kemptian provinces to trade with them. Perhaps if he had tried harder, they could have kept some kind of relationship going, and he would have been around to remain close to Laurent.

Instead, now Laurent had Damianos. Probably the most handsom of any Akielon Fynn had ever seen, but all of that was nulled by what he had done. Fynn wished he could have been around to see this King as a slave, how Laurent woul dhave been then. He had heard that Laurent had done his best to break the man, and the scarring thet crept up over his shoulders suggested it had been merciless—as Damianos deserved.

“My father sent me to command ships,” Fynn explained in Akielon. “I spent almost half a decade in the company of Akielons at fishing ports and haggling with them over sex and trade.”

He liked them. He admired their strength, their golden skin, their dark curls and deep accents. Just not that of the particular one sitting in front of him.

“And yet you wish to destroy our union,” Damen growled, not responding to Laurent’s squeezes of his hand. Surely Laurent could see how ridiculous all of this was. Allowing Fynn to talk like this.

Fynn looked up, his eyes suddenly cold. Damen felt as if he’s been struck across the face with a sheet of ice, it was so jarring.

“Auguste was my closest friend,” Fynn said tartly. “I loved him dearly. Yes, under any other circumstances I would fully support your union because I believe Vere needs it, but I cannot support /you/ being part of that union. I will not disguise it. You know what you did, and while Laurent may have forgiven you, I have not.”

Fynn's ringed fingers curled tight around his fork. “If Laurent chooses you, so be it. But I have been charged by Auguste to take Laurent’s hand, and I will not wait any longer.”

“If you wait any longer we will be married,” Damen hissed. “You had years to do this, and yet you choose now?”

“I know the timing is not the best,” Fynn agreed. “But I hardly think I could survive walking into Ios or Marlas and asking the same. Laurent had not been home hardly at all since he took the crown. I intend to court him here, as it should be,"

* * *

Fynn had always been a strong leader. Laurent had seen it in many a game, in many a strategic move, only second to Auguste. He had learned from Auguste, after all, had been by his side more than any other boy Auguste’s age. Fynn had stayed in the palace when his family visited, his mother close with the Queen. Fynn had grown up around the same powerful adversaries Laurent had and /then/ some more. There was no question as to why he’d been sent to command ships.

Fynn having Akielon connections did not /surprise/ Laurent. Kempt and Akielos had a relatively quiet history.

/This/ Akielon and Kemptian, however....

The switch from cordial to undiplomatic was not unexpected, but Laurent wished the both of them could have waited until they were out of this room. It would be something he and Damen would need to discuss tonight. Laurent knew he was not well-verses in the Veretian cunning, but certainly he knew how to act in a public feast!

It only took one person to hear it, after all and Vere - with its love for the dramatic - took off with it down the table. Information was passed in glances, it little mouthed words, sporadic and peppered throughout the seats. Laurent watched it take off like wildfire, all through the haze that had hit him in his realisation that his love for Damen was once again being demanded justification.

He set his jaw and hissed to the men on either side of him, “That is /enough/,” with a severity that could undermine even Fynn’s icy mood. He would not have this be public. He would not have his betrothed acting out like this, and he would not have Fynn believing he had agency just because of his bond to Auguste. That was something they could discuss in private. They /would/ discuss in private.

If Laurent spoke with either of them this night.

“Eat,” he ordered quietly to the both of them, his hand now set on Damen’s knee, as if to hold him down.

* * *

At least they had said it in Akielon, Damen wanted to say. No one in Vere bothered to learn it, so how much harm could it do? They were just gossiping about the glares the two men were trading. Damen refused to fight for Laurent when he already had his hand in marriage. His desire to court Laurent was still there of course, but as an after-the-fact desire. There would be no courting now.

Damen stabbed his boar meat with clear annoyance, nearly breaking the plate as he did so. He had wanted a night back in Arles to reacquaint with everyone, to visit the winner of the competition and then begrudgingly return to Ios without Laurent. Instead they had this.

Fynn, ever the diplomat, dipped his head and apologized, then set about speaking to members of the court. He spun tales of Kempt, joked and garnered laughter and approval with ease. Damen did his best to hold conversation, but no one seemed interested in anything other than Fynn. When they were, it was to stare lustily at their own King, which did not help Damen’s mood any futher.

Finally—finally—the drinks were gone and the plates cleared, and when the first of the pets emerged to entertain, Damen decided it was time to take his leave.

“I will see you after,” he promised, leaning in for an all-too-quick kiss on Laurent’s lips before summoning his guard to go to his men.

Fynn did not come looking. He knew better than to seem over-eager where Laurent was concerned, and he truly did not want to upset him by making it appear as though he intended to present a ring tonight or something of the sort.

So instead he gossiped and praised as beautiful pets danced before him, shooting grins every so often when something particularly dramatic occurred. He didn’t mind the show of pets, they were very different than the highly conservative rules of Kempt. Vere would always have some magic to him in that way.

His eyes did wander, though, searching for gold and blue.

* * *

Laurent could never have simplicity.

When the feast was finished, Damen shot up out of his seat like an arrow released from a bow, gone before Laurent could say a word to keep him near. Damen retreated out of the room, not so much as bothering to look back and see what Laurent thought about it. Laurent had not felt such coldness from Damen since Ios.

Laurent cleared his throat, sipped his water amidst the throng of entertainment and music that came with the entrance of the unclaimed pets. This was their time to sell themselves, to find contracts.

More than one had their eye on Fynn.

It would keep him occupied while Laurent worked this out.

He should go to Damen. He should leave this very moment and go to Damen, talk him through whatever he was going through. He needed to reassure Damen everything was fine, that whatever Fynn had worked out with Auguste was void now.

Probably.

And it would have no lasting ramifications if he and Fynn just talked it out.

Probably.

But...Laurent also didn’t know what Fynn had to say. He didn’t know what wish Auguste had left his best friend with and...Laurent /needed/ to know. His brother had been taken from him so quickly, and no one truly had any information on him that Laurent did not already know.

He wanted to know what Fynn had.

So, Laurent stood, catching eyes with Jord who stood by the entrance to the balcony. Laurent gave him a nod, a sign he would soon be moving, and summoned Fynn with a glance. His eyes weren’t hard to catch, even with the pet dancing just in front of him.

* * *

Laurent hadn’t left. Fynn had wondered if he would go after Damen, who vanished from their meal the moment it was over. but he also knew he had hat Laurent wanted, and if they just had time together, alone, Fynn could set all of this right.

And there was his invitation. Fynn stood from his place, much to the chagrin of the pet dancing there. he thought about calling him to be later, but things were still strange with how the end of slavery was supposedly happening, and he didn’t want to be in any grey areas for Laurent.

It was good to see him again. Fynn approached to be at Laurent’s side and wordlessly started out toward the halls. He still knew Arles as well as he had as a boy, and it was almost like coming home. There were so many memories in this place, all but one fond.

“I was thinking you might cast me out,” Fynn chuckled in Akielon as they walked. “I do apologize for the comments I made—I simply wished to be transparent. I did not think it appropriate to be cordial during dinner and then explain my true intentions. But perhaps that was unwise."

* * *

“As unwise as challenging any king in his own country,” Laurent replied easily, for in so many words, that was exactly what Fynn had done. Had he not had Laurent’s good will on his side, such insult could have been punishable in the Veretian way— or in the Akielon way. Laurent would need to clarify what that was at another time. “I always thought you better at diplomacy than that.” Fynn /had/ grown up with the royal family of Vere, after all.

Laurent did not mean to sound cruel, as he was certain he did. Fynn was used to a bold but malleable young boy, a kind heart, a warm disposition. Anything like indifference or a frosty tone would come off as rude. But Laurent was not only the king of Vere now, but he was betrothed to Akielos and the man /he had chosen/ to love. It was equally cruel for Fynn to complicate that now.

“Your Akielon is very good,” Laurent switched into the Kemptian dialect of Veretian as he spoke. He did not get to use that often. “Better than mine, even.” And Laurent had learned it young, had been living amongst the Akielons for months. He should be better. Fynn was always faster than him at learning things. “Perhaps next time you speak in it, it will not be to insult Damianos.”

Damianos.

Laurent used his full name, knowing he would have to face it with Fynn at some point. And for a moment, Laurent almost hesitates, almost shied away from saying it to plainly, so openly, so.../proudly/. He berated himself for it, small as it was.

* * *

So the rumors were true. Fynn had heard that the Regent had turned sweet Laurent of Vere into something cold, but Fynn had never been able to see for himself, what with the Regent barring his family from setting foot in the country. He wondered if Laurent knew about that. He probably did. Regardless, Fynn had been around many a sour royal in his time and though it was more shocking to have it come from Laurent, he didn’t take offense.

Fynn flinched only slightly when Laurent said that name, turning the corner toward the passages that would eventually wind them along to the royal chambers where he hoped Laurent would dress properly and meet him in the gardens.

“He killed Auguste,” Fynn said plainly. “I will not have him think he is well liked by me, even if you are to wed him.” He still suspected Damianos had come kind of power over Laurent, or perhaps a condition of their outing the Regent was to secure Vere. Laurent was surely the most beautiful prize in any near kingdom, and Damianos supposedly had an insatiable lust for blonds.

“I have been immersed with Akielons far longer than you have, Your Majesty,” Fynn reminded him. “I should think you noticed that diplomacy as we know it does not go well when dealing with Akielons. You may not appreciate it, and neither might he, but I prefer honesty. I /have/ come to court you. You may refuse my offer, but I hope you will not.”

If he could just get Laurent to agree to the courtship, even in secret, he would feel much better about having tried for Auguste.

Fynn paused, giving Laurent a look of concern. “Tell me he does not mistreat you.” he dared to lift his hand, hesitating only to show Laurent that he wasn’t doing this as some sort of power move. He gently pushed over the shoulder fabric of his chiton, where dark marks covered Laurent’s skin. “I heard no comments about these, nor about the ones I am sure this…child’s chiton is hiding. Has he forced you to wear this?"

* * *

Laurent flushed without any ability to hide it. It had been so long since he had /cared/ what someone thought about him, so long since he had felt a passed judgment and let it affect him. He knew to someone like Fynn he would he a lot to explain, but Laurent...he did things unapologetically. He did what he felt he needed to. Why did everyone have to complicate things?

He stopped, took a step back out of Fynn’s reach, but the tone he took was not disdainful, not cold. He did not want Fynn to think this was a stubborn dismissal, wanted him to know this was the unquestionable truth.

“He has never mistreated me,” Laurent made very clear, eyes on Fynn’s. “Damianos is a good man. He doesn’t have the will to mistreat me.”

But Laurent knew it looked otherwise, knew Fynn would be able to name one moment in particular where he’d felt Damen had mistreated Laurent. He’d already named it.

As they approached Laurent’s chambers, he addressed the guard standing by.

“Take my guest to his chambers to retrieve a cloak,” Laurent ordered. “I will be dressed in something more appropriate for the outside and we will continue this discussion.” He turned back to Fynn. “We’ll...discuss my brother’s intentions.”

* * *

Fynn wasn’t sure he believed Laurent. Damianos certainly looked like someone capable of mistreatment. He looked like he’d been ready to throttle someone at dinner, and what if that anger turned to Laurent? He knew Laurent was capable of defending himself…with a weapon. A man of Damianos’ size could easily pin him.

Yet he had the will to kill Auguste, Fynn wanted to say. My best friend. Your brother. Our everything, at one point.

Instead he held his tongue and smiled at the guard as they approached…

“You have kept your apartment,” Fynn noted aloud, looking over the ornate door to Laurent’s chambers. He wondered if Damianos slept here, or if they kept separate rooms as was proper. He couldn’t see Laurent allowing another man in his bed, but he could see Damianos forcing his hand somehow.

“I will wait for you in the gardens, Your Majesty,” Fynn said with a final bow.

Fynn followed the guard to his room where he donned a thick velvet cloak and a traditional Kemptian hat with two feathers: one black with a shimmering blue overlay, one bright white from a rare blue pheasant brought from the east. He clasped his cloak at his breast and examined himself in a mirror, smiling slightly at his appearance. Black did look very good on him.

He didn’t need to be escorted to the gardens. The snow was falling steadily, but he was no stranger to it. Fynn gazed out at the snow-covered shrubs. The gardens of Vere were designed to look just as good in winter as they did in summer.

And he waited, preparing to do so for some time.


	2. Part I: The Letter (17.5.2020)

Laurent turned just as Fynn mentioned his room, and he nodded, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “I kept my apartments,” he confirmed, and though his tone was warm, it was weary. Laurent had aged so much further past his twenty-one years in just the course of an hour.

When he entered, Laurent learned quickly that Damen was not in their rooms. He had hoped Damen would retreat here to sulk, but it seemed he truly was with his men. Laurent stared about the room for a moment, just...breathing.

He needed Damen right now.

Laurent would very rarely admit to ever needing someone, even in private to himself, but this was one of those so rare moments. His breathing was uneasy now that he was alone, catching and hitching in his chest, and even the chiton was stifling him.

There had been no living wills of his brother’s up until now. Before today, Auguste’s life had been severed short, without warning. He had been the golden prince, had been untouchable. No one could have foreseen him being lost to—to Damianos that day - but he had been, and it had been Laurent’s understanding that that was /it/! That he would never feel his brother’s influence or care again.

Laurent took a seat on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes, willed his breathing to slow—

And nothing could have been as inspiring for it to do so as the knock that came to the door.

When Lucien walked in, Laurent we already fine, breathing normally, standing there in the nude, ready to be dressed. It was a much needed distraction. Laurent had been quite skilled at finding them in his life.

It did take a little over a half hour’s time, but when he was ready and accompanied down to the gardens, Fynn was already there waiting for him, dressed in his Kemptian attire.

“I had almost forgotten your fine hats,” Laurent commented as calmly as ever, dismissing Jord as he lead stride into the garden.

* * *

Fynn didn’t mind waiting. It was much better than Laurent trying to venture outdoors in that skimpy chiton. His cloak was warm, and it allowed Fynn rare time alone. He loved Arles. It was so intricate and beautiful compared to the minimalist tendencies of Kempt. Fynn liked the simplicity of home though, it made visiting here that much more magical.

The outfit Laurent had chosen was a breathtaking piece. The embroidery on the collar, the buttons on his jacket, the way it fit him just perfectly to accent his figure. The sleeves were beautifully done, with cloth vambraces that looked perfect.

“You have been too long without a Kempt visitor then,” Fynn quipped, grinning wide. He bowed his head just so and extended a gloved hand to take Laurent’s. His lips brushed the backs of Laurent’s fingers, and Fynn caught the scent of fine Veretian perfumes that he had not remembered until now.

He dropped Laurent’s hand and chuckled to himself. “I must say I do not know the protocol—if I am supposed to offer my arm or you yours. Allow me to fall into our old ways this once?” He offered his arm politely.

“I will venture far outside of my station to say that your clothing is beyond eye-catching. I do not think I have ever seen something tailored so well on another man."

* * *

“Charls, the cloth merchant.” Laurent answered a question that was not asked as he took Fynn’s offered arm. It did not affect Laurent so much, this closeness, just as the kiss to his hand had not. He was in a place right now of self-forced comfort, a place of performance. Laurent had never been properly courted, and he did not even think to pinpoint this act as a part of it.

“If our countries had proper trade, you would see his handiwork much more frequently. He fabricates my finer garments.”

And quite a fine outfit had been chosen for this rendezvous, he noticed. Laurent also noticed, just now, that Lucien has tied his hair back without his asking. He wondered who had been in charge of that...

“You still know your way about these gardens?” Laurent asked, allowing Fynn to lead about the area they had grown in together. “After all this time?” They could be almost maze-like in places, these gardens, but there were many paths and ways to the six fountains that lived in alcoves of bushes on the border of the square...one of which held the statue to commemorate Auguste. The statue for Laurent’s father, King Aleron, stood one the middle of it all.

Fynn had seen neither of them.

* * *

“Yes, evidently I will need to discuss it with my shippers,” Fynn murmured, looking over the outfit once more. He still wasn’t allowing himself to feel genuine attraction to Laurent—he was obviously beautiful to look at, but Fynn was here because of Auguste. If Laurent decided to permit his advances, then Fynn would allow himself to properly address the warmth in his chest.

Fynn laughed at the question, but there was pain in his laugh. “I dream of these gardens, Laurent,” he breathed, head tipped back to face the snow for just one moment. waves of pain hit him suddenly here, grief leapt out at him in unexpected places.

“Arles will always be my second home,” he said, allowing the bit of emotion into his voice. “Though I have not been here, it’s still where I am from, in some sense.” He chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “I can see your vile uncle has changed this place for you, but Arles is so beautiful.”

He saw the first statue. Fynn stilled, his throat closing.

“His is here?” Fynn said quietly, eyes burning already. Of course it was here. He swallowed hard, forced to look away. “I am not sure I can see him. His likeness—I—“

Fynn shook his head. “Take me to him, please."

* * *

Arles has been ruined for Laurent, many years ago. He much preferred the palace by the sea, the sand beaches and the hidden gardens and lakes in Akielos. He found /those/ to be magic, even with the cruel sun beating down. When Laurent thought of beauty, he thought of silk curtains, of soft piles of cushions on balconies, of the sound of waves crashing against the surf, the clear, bright moon, unobstructed by clouds and snow. But this didn’t seem like the time to declare that. Laurent did not think he could mention it if he tried. One mention of his uncle had flared something up in him that he needed to be silent and take the time to dismiss the very thought of.

Laurent had very nearly been bold enough as to mention that his Uncle had always been kind to Fynn, but before he could get it out, he noticed a change in Fynn - something trepidatious and wary.

The request that followed made a lot of sense following that reaction.

“Of course,” Laurent agreed, leading Fynn off through the gardens at a leisurely pace. Laurent remembered his first time seeing the statue. His Uncle had it built in the corner of the gardens Laurent frequented the most as a child. He had seen it as a kindness then, but over the years, he had learned it had been an act that only benefitted his uncle in the long run. He had effectively run Laurent out of the gardens in his youth, had him lock himself inside. He was easier to get to there. Not that he made himself difficult to find.

Laurent felt his throat threaten to tighten again in a way not unlike it had just moments ago in his chambers.

He fought through it.

He rounded the shaped bushes into a small clearing, coloured even in the winter with dark blue and royal purple hellebore. They always flowered without fail in the winter, giving a beauty to the marble statue that stood atop a small pedestal in the centre...though the statue needed no assistance.

“This is the...better of his statues,” Laurent murmured as they entered the clearing, his eyes falling on the cold stone carving of Auguste. “But it is also one of the smaller ones.” Here, Auguste has been carved to his actual height. In the dark, it could almost be perceived as if he were out here, enjoying the beauty that perhaps he still would have seen in Arles.

It was strange to see Auguste forever trapped like that, at an age he no longer would have been, especially with Fynn standing there, who Auguste would have aged alongside. He wondered what would have changed in his brother.

* * *

Fynn had to look away, choked with grief. It looked just like Auguste, exactly as Fynn remembered him. Young, wild, noble. In the low light he looked as if he might come alive and greet them, throw his arms around Fynn’s neck like he used to do. Fynn released Laurent’s arm, lip quivering as he approached the statue. He couldn’t help it.

His hand moved to rest on Auguste’s foot, but he quelled his grief in the same moment as he was about to lose himself. Auguste was gone, but his mission was not. He had asked something of his best friend, and Fynn was here to fulfill it.

“He wrote to me as things were coming to a head in the war correspondence,” Fynn croaked out, already feeling for the letter in his pocket. “I do not think he was thinking of death, but you know how war makes men think of the future.”

He wiped his eyes before producing the letter, folding it so that the most important text could be seen. “I would ask you do not read the entirety of the letter here. This place should be exempt from talk of war, even written.”

Fynn offered the parchment, tears still leaking from his eyes.

_…I think now of Laurent, how he will fare in the kingdom once we have claimed victory. When I ascend the throne I shall seek his happiness alongside that of Vere—he is becoming quite skilled with the sword. Father talks of sending him away to be married to a Vaskian princess. Laurent! Vaskian women would swallow him in their bedsheets._

_You will not breathe a word of this to him or my father—or anyone else for that matter!—but should I have any say in it, I would like for him to be wed to you, someday. I will do my best to allow him to decide, but we both know he has little say. When he is presented, will you court him? I know you are fond of him, and he is fond of you. I have not seen him so thrilled as when I last announced your impending arrival. With time I am sure it can become more._

_Please consider it. We can discuss more after this wretched fight. Court him and you will have my blessing for marriage, I swear it. It would delight me, and bring me peace to know my brother would have a husband so honorable and kind as you, dear Fynn._

_I am sure it is not lost on you that we would be brothers as well!_

_Do tell of your most recent adventures east. Perhaps send me a trinket?_

_Yours,_  
_Auguste_

“He always signed his name on my letters,” Fynn explained. “I think so that messengers would not be sure of its validity. But he crossed his “T” just so, I always knew it was him.”

Fynn looked at his gloved hands, unable to look up at Auguste. He felt he was failing already by having waited so long. He had wanted Laurent to take the throne, to do what was proper and good and find a queen. Instead he was marrying the princekiller, and Fynn had to do his best to stop it if he could. For Auguste.

* * *

Laurent remembered first seeing the statue, unveiled in the evening a few months after the death of...well, everyone in his family. He remembered standing alone while his Uncle had been the one to remove the fine cloth covering the work, remembered having the same reaction Fynn was now. He gave Fynn his time, stood there quietly as he stared over Auguste’s memorial.

Surely, Auguste never would have meant to complicate Laurent’s life like this. No, he never could have imagined Laurent would find or have Damen as his beloved, no, but he stood by what he had once said to Damen about it. Auguste would have liked Damen if things had been different. He would have respected Damen, would have trained and spent time with him as he once had with Fynn. He wouldn’t have wanted to see Laurent conflicted and confused as he was now.

He definitely would not have wanted to see what he dissolved into as he read the letter.

Fynn handed it over and, despite his assurances to himself in the silence, Laurent felt the need to snatch the letter away, to read it as if to double check his claims—

But he stopped and controlled himself, stilled by the sight of his brother’s handwriting. He had not seen it in so long. What Laurent had of Auguste’s letters and notes, he had read through so many times that they no longer looked like his handwriting, but just like...words. /This/ was his handwriting again, forming new words, new sentences, new thoughts from a man that Laurent wished to hear from every day.

Laurent read it quietly, his eyes flicking across the page and back, across and back, every once in a while pausing on a word, of backtracking to reread a sentence.

Auguste would never see how he faced the kingdom - thank heavens - but he would also never see what Laurent had become, how he would now /rule/ the kingdom. Auguste would never know the kind and noble man he’d decided to call his own—

Though...Laurent wondered if Auguste would even hear of it. No man would ever be as Fynn was to Auguste...More than that, without Auguste here, Laurent would never get the blessing on the unorthodox marriage that, if he had, would surely stop everyone from questioning his decision!

A tear hit the paper, and Laurent quickly wiped it away, an apology forming on his lips as he so quickly handed back the letter.

He would have liked to hold onto it. Would have liked to read all of it, over and over, claim that which should belong to Vere....in his opinion.

He sniffed, swiped his had over his face, genuinely surprised to feel the moisture there. Laurent had not cried in front of another in... years.

He would not start now.

* * *

Fynn turned back to the statue to allow Laurent his privacy. The letter was hard to stomach even for Fynn, who had kept it safe for years now. It was the last letter Auguste had ever written him that included anything personal. The next few details the first fights of the war, then they had stopped abruptly, but Fynn had learned why within days of the event.

He should not have waited this long, he knew that.

When he heard a sniff, Fynn turned to see that Laurent had finished, tears leaking down his cheeks. This was the softer Laurent he knew. No ice in his veins or coldness, just a younger brother whose older brother had been snatched from him.

“I hope you see now why I had to make such an entrance,” Fynn said quietly. He stepped forward and did not hesitate to embrace Laurent, because that is what they had always done. AUguste always reached him first, clutching Laurent for just a moment before drawing back to examine him for any wounds, wiping tears from his cheeks and smiling at him when nothing was wrong. There were many times when Auguste had upset Laurent with his protectiveness, and then it was Fynn’s turn to swoop in with a joke about Auguste’s bad form or a hug of his own.

Fynn only held him for a second, then pulled away. “He ought to have come to Kempt for lessons in penmanship,” Fynn joked weakly. “But that is what made his letters recognizable, I suppose.”

Fynn clasped his hands behind his back, the weight of emotion heavy on both of them.

“You need not have an answer now,” Fynn said softly. “But if it is true, if you feel that…perhaps there was the beginning of something more between us all those years ago, I…”

He wasn’t sure how to appropriately say it.

Fynn sighed. “At least for the sake of appearances, I would encourage you to entertain me, even if you have no intention to change your mind. Others in your court know about the letter—and I am sure they have spread word. That is why they welcomed me here, and I believe why a messenger was sent to me in the first place.” He laughed bitterly. “I saw the Arles crest and thought perhaps it was a letter from you.”

He wiped his own eyes. “Would you like to walk more, or shall I return you to your chambers?"

* * *

His court knew. Of course his fucking court knew! Of course everyone would know now, to further complicate everything going on in Laurent’s head. Never since his death had Laurent been angry at Auguste, but it was the only emotion he could muster right now regarding all of this. He wasn’t sure how else to handle this. Auguste had effectively turned the kingdom against him - at least those who were against the Akielon union still!

No...wait, that wasn’t fair...

But in /writing/?! He had put such a request in /writing/?! What had he been thinking?

That his brother would not find someone so fitting for him, so fitting and accepting of his type of love. Auguste never could have foreseen this.

And then Laurent was angry at himself for being so ridiculous, for blaming a dead man for something he had no idea he was causing.

This was foolish, all of it - childish and so unlike what Laurent had become. Emotions like this were those of a boy, not of a king.

His hands shook in Fynn’s. There was a comfort that he found around Fynn, some rooted comfort from his long-lost childhood, trust that had been gained so many years ago, trust that Fynn had never had the chance to lose.

Laurent cast his eyes back to Auguste’s statue, as if some answer might lie there. It was where Laurent searched for all of his answers, after all.

“I need to sleep on this,” Laurent said honestly, softly, once more swiping at his eyes, unable to look at Fynn. It had been so long since Laurent had felt the need for...comfort, for consoling. He had long since warned himself off of such feelings, but Fynn was bringing back a part of Laurent he’d not seen in so many, many years.

He did not like it.

He would not accept it.

“I have not thought about my brother like this in some time and...to have you here, and to have these thoughts—“ Laurent was never honest like this! He became acutely aware of that, and was quick to reel it back in, to reclaim his composure, his constitution.

“Let me see this competition through,” Laurent said. “It is my responsibility to do so, and when you are not a pawn of /theirs/, then we will...discuss this again.”

* * *

“It’s okay,” Fynn said gently. “I didn’t expect an answer tonight. I simply wished to show you why I came.” he hated causing Laurent pain like this, men tenfold by the fact that he was betrothed to Damianos of Akielos. Fynn didn’t want to complicate things, but he knew he had. The court knew why he was here, and that meant Laurent had to act accordingly.

But the fact that Laurent had “thoughts” surprised him. Fynn had thought from dinner that Damianos had quite the hold on him. He was thankful to know it didn’t extend over every part of him, there was still some proper Veretian in him. Fynn decided he would try to draw more out, to return Laurent to the one he knew.

“I’m fully aware I’m a pawn,” Fynn agreed, gently taking Laurent’s arm to return him to the warmth of the palace. “And I agree. But in the meantime, we should have a plan. I will act as an honored guest, and should you wish to discuss things in the gardens, I would be happy to.”

He wasn’t sure if Laurent would take him up on it, but he had to offer.

“Come now,” Fynn said once they reached the door. He reached up, taking the edge of his soft velvet cloak to gently wipe the moisture from Laurent’s face. “I will not have the King of Vere returning to the palace in such a state. My own king would have me hanged.”

He smiled, but was tempted to….he was tempted to kiss Laurent’s forehead, to console him in some way. But if he was not yet accepted, he wouldn’t go against Laurent’s wishes.

He opened the door, reluctantly stepping aside to allow Laurent entry.

“I should also think—“

Fynn stopped speaking when he saw Damianos at the end of the hall, walking away from them. He froze, but Damen was speaking with whom Fynn presumed to be the head of his guard.

“I’ll go back through the secret passage,” Fynn whispered. “I think it would be best not to upset him further.” He quickly lifted Laurent’s hand to his lips, smiled, and ducked back out the door.

—

Damen had not noticed that Laurent had entered. He was still going over preparations with Pallas. They had to return home after the competition, and Damen had to beat the storm. He also planned to beat Fynn of Kempt out of Arles on his way. He would not be able to stand leaving Laurent with Fynn still inside the palace.

It was the draft of wind that caught his attention. Damen turned then and saw Laurent alone in the hall, looking every bit as magnificent and royal as he was. Long gone was the pet Soren, replaced with the most attractive and most powerful man in the kingdoms.

In an outfit undoubtedly chosen with someone else in mind.

Damen couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes. Even if he couldn’t make out Laurent’s face, he knew where he had been.

“Goodnight, Pallas,” he said abruptly, and Pallas departed immediately. Damen turned to look at Jord, who was making every effort to avoid eye contact. That somehow made things hurt all the more.

He moved past into their chambers without waiting, needing as much time alone as he could have before he faced agony.

* * *

Even still on Fynn’s arm, still shrouded in all the unease that his presence had brought, Laurent found himself able to breathe easier the very moment he saw Damen there at the end of the hallway. He practically felt air finally push into his lungs, expand his chest, did away with that trapped feeling Laurent had been dealing with.

He needed to explain this to him, needed to talk to him about this, /wanted/ Damen’s help with all of this. Damen had begged Laurent to trust him, to be more honest with him, to /share/ with him, and Laurent was in just the mood to do so now—

Right until Damen turned away from him, leaving Laurent alone in the hallway, staring after him.

Laurent stopped in his tracks, felt Jord and Pallas’ eyes on him as he stood there, /dismissed/ in his own palace by his own betrothed!

Shame burned hot beneath Laurent’s skin, mixed with the confusion, the worry, the nausea that had taken him in the last few hours, and left him feeling hollow and empty. Laurent had been alone for many years in his life, but it had been some time since he had felt it as strongly as he did in that moment, in the very wake of Damen‘a jealousy .

Long gone were the years of Laurent chasing someone down when he thought he needed them. He could hear his Uncle mocking him in the back of his head, his younger cries of, “Please, Uncle,” of “Don’t leave me alone.”

Laurent straightened his back, moved past both guards in an elegant stride toward his chambers, giving no sign his integrity and been undermined. He passed through the doors, already loosing his hair from the tie, trying to act...unaffected by all of this. Laurent did away with his desire to crash into Damen’s arms, to bury himself in Damen’s broad chest. No, Laurent could not do that now, could not sabotage himself any further than he already had today.

* * *

Damen knew that Laurent hadn’t dismissed him. He knew it the moment Laurent didn’t immediately come after him, didn’t immediately burst into the room to explain that he had done away with Fynn. And Damen knew he probably hadn’t accepted Fynn’s courtship—Laurent couldn’t even be that cruel to his enemies—but he hadn’t turned it away either. After all Damen had done, all he had sacrificed, confessed, promised to Laurent, he was considering another suitor. even if it was just for appearances, Damen didn’t know how he would cope.

Tears were already wetting his face when Laurent entered, rolling from his eyes unabashedly, the hurt was so great. His red cloak was in a pile on the floor, his crown tossed to the sofa.

“You have not told him no,” Damen croaked out. He wasn’t even angry, just hurt. He had never been angry at Laurent about this—Fynn was the one who deserved to be hanged.

Laurent had even put his hair up, had changed into an outfit Damen had not even yet seen.

“Tell me I’m foolish,” he begged. “Tell me you have sent him and his proposal away.”.

* * *

Laurent had not expected this to be an easy conversation - he was not so sure it would even /be/ a conversation - so when he walked in to Damen like /that/, it only served to break down what little resolve Laurent had left in him.

But he could not be needy. He could not match Damen’s energy now, could not break from the impossible weight on his shoulders.

How could he expect Damen to understand this? Laurent did not even underhand this, and here Damen was, demanding something of him he could not give.

More than that, Damen - who had once been so sure of Laurent’s heart - had chosen to doubt him on the one evening where Laurent needed a steadfast strength he did not have. He was only lucky it was a strength he’d been forced to give a performance of for many years of his life.

He thought about Fynn’s hug, how he had taken Laurent into his arms without question, without any sort of acknowledgment of his weakness.

Laurent wished had hadn’t.

“I have not told him no,” Laurent replied flatly, devoid of all emotion as if even opening up to one might lead to a flood he would not allow. It was difficult, especially when it was so obvious Damen was hurt, but he should know better. He should know Laurent well enough to know he /was/ being foolish.

“How are your men?” He asked diplomatically, detached, as he untied his clock at his chest, began to unlace his doublet, his eyes down on his fingers working dearly over the lacing.

* * *

It was as if Damen had been struck across the face. He tried to think of what would happen if the situation were reversed, and it would not be this. Laurent would be furious, likely even call war between their two kingdoms again if Damen so much as entertained another offer. It was beyond insulting, yet Laurent did not seem to care. Because of Auguste. Yes, it was no an ideal situation, but Auguste was dead. His wishes no longer mattered, just as Kastor’s didn’t.

The cruelty didn’t end there. Laurent spoke to him like he was once more a slave, in the same uninterested tone he used at court. Dmaen had never felt smaller in his life. For it all to come so suddenly made it os much worse.

“They await Ios,” Damen managed to say, his voice quivering. He simply did not understand. Their love was undeniable, so strong Damen could feel it even now, yet Laurent wanted to allow another man to court him.

“I can’t believe this,” he hissed out. “Think for one moment of what you would do if you were in my place. I would be gutted alive, piked at the entrance to Arles—you would have spat in my face and yet you stand here treating me like I should not care about what you have just allowed.”

His heart was in turmoil.

“You win,” he said, showing his hands. “I will admit I am defenseless, I have no way to counter you.“ He hurriedly wiped his eyes, but the pain ripped deeper with each moment. “i do not know what you expect of—for fuck’s sake.”

He strode across the room and forced his hands to take the place of Laurent’s. Damen’s hands were warm from the fire, not sluggish from cold. Unlacing the doublet would be easy.

Upon seeing Laurent’s eyes up close, he paused for a moment.

“You have been crying—what has he done? I will kill him if he has touched you.”

His love for Laurent was unchanged, even when wounded. Damen would still give his life to save him, without question.

* * *

Laurent listened as Damen spoke, concentrating too hard on his laces in an attempt to make himself look busy. He heard everything, let Damen say what he needed to, which Damen knew to expect from Laurent. If Laurent held any true ill will to Damen, he would have snapped back, cut him off, and then cut him down, but with his heart in his throat, he took it, completely prepared to act as he needed to when it was over.

And then Damen threw up his hands, acting as if this were a competition! As if Laurent were nearly looking for victory in a fight he did not even want.

Damen had this all wrong, and Laurent knew their past was swaying him into certain beliefs of Laurent’s interests, but these were not it! He was not trying to be cruel, was not trying to be victorious.

In the past, Laurent would have had this time alone. He would have, admittedly, left Damen in turmoil while he worked out his diplomatic response to all of this, and then, they could have spoken it over with Laurent at his best. This was an onslaught Laurent was not prepared for, and he /knew/ he owed Damen something here, but he couldn’t get out of his own mind to give it!

And then Damen was at his front, batting his hands away and taking over lacing Laurent still had not worked undone in his...grief. This was grief.

And when Damen called out his tears, Laurent exhaled sharply, playing off the swallowing of the lump in his throat to be annoyance.

It didn’t stick.

Laurent had to cast his eyes up to ceiling to keep himself together, though his eyes threatened to leak and betray him.

“He did not touch me,” Laurent told Damen, his voice thick, his tone trying at indifference and failing. “We visited Auguste, as I told you we would, and—“

Auguste would have liked Damen. He would have!

Laurent made a sound in the back of his throat, something desperate and stifled, something that would have been a sob if he allowed it to be, but instead, Laurent handled it as only he knew how.

He pushed Damen away, turned his back and rubbed his face in his hands, retreating to the fine couch of his study, just needing some distance, some time to think. He wanted to cling to Damen pathetically, like a child in need of comfort. He knew what he was doing was wrong, but Damen didn’t understand, and Laurent couldn’t even find the words to explain it— probably wouldn’t get the chance to as he physically and emotionally pushed Damen away as he only knew how to. He would not be a child begging for help. He would handle this on his own.

“I cannot do this right now,” Laurent said honestly, hand wrapped around his own throat in his fuss to try to soothe the lump out of it. “I—this is not how—I will not handle things in this way. I need /time/.”

Nothing was easy with Laurent.

* * *

Damen loathed to see Laurent upset. To see tears in his eyes was alarming, and Damen wanted nothing more than to hold him, to assure him that nothing had changed. Except it had. Laurent was allowing another man to show interest in him, potentially allowing a courtship when he was betrothed to someone else. He could not understand. Even if Kastor hadn’t destroyed Akielos and was still just Damen’s brother, he would no have listened to him for a moment when making his decision on who to marry.

But Laurent was in pain. Damen could not allow himself to hurt him further, even if he felt he should say /something/ more about the situation.

Kastor had always told him that in any kind of fighting, war or otherwise, current emotion had to be set aside and the long term thought of first. In the long term, Damen wanted Laurent to be his husband. He wanted their kingdoms to be united, he wanted to have a happy marriage. Currently, Laurent was in pain, Damen was in pain, but he had to remind himself that Lauren was /young/. He was only twenty one, had ascended the throne at twenty. A throne Auguste was supposed to have taken on for him.

As usual when Laurent pushed him away, Damen did not stay there for long. He wiped his face, took a deep breath, then crossed to the sofa. On his way, he picked up his cloak.

They would have plenty of time to fight later.

Damen put his cloak over Laurent’s shoulders and kissed his head, nuzzling into his blond hair.

“I very much love you,” Damen said quietly, his voice raw. he didn’t know what else to say. He put his hands out, gently and carefully—

“Ouch,” he whined, wincing like a struck hound when the cloth of his cloak caught on his piercings. Now was /not/ the time. “Please stay still for just one moment—I’m sorry—“ He carefully—carefully—lifted a hand to loosen the fabric caught against the gold.

“There,” he murmured, still reeling just slightly from the tug. “Now, I think it would be good for you to have some warm broth and change into proper clothes for bed. Tomorrow we will focus on the competition and nothing more unless you want to.”

Laurent was his long term goal, his only victory. Damen would not lose him to a duke of Kempt.

* * *

Damen was there - foolish, stupid, stubborn Damen - right by Laurent, pulling him close and holding him when Laurent knew He did not deserve it. It was not victimising himself. He knew he was cold, had not communicated well enough with Damen, knew that there should be some give you his take, but he’d not been allowed the time to process this. Damen’s being close did not make it easier.

It did distract Laurent for a moment, Damen getting caught in the cloak and in his clothing, and he even chanced at a wet laugh—

Before it all came tumbling down.

Laurent did not /cry/. He didn’t. He’d stopped crying years ago. Not from pain, not from hurt, not from /emotions/. Even at his trial, where he’d stood hours on end, bound in irons, faced with the end, he had not cried.

And yet, he’d done it now twice today.

Well....once, he supposed. The others he’d held back, probably held inside of him, welled up and waiting for /this/ moment.

Laurent hated himself for it.

“I will never love him as I do you,” Laurent said into Damen’s shoulder, where he had carefully tucked himself. His voice wavered, thick in his chest, and there was no denying the tears on Damen’s skin, but Laurent was trying to hide it. “I will /never/. He just—“

It was frustration. It was all frustration and anger and hurt. Frustration in Fynn for bringing this now, anger at his court for using this against him, hurt because Damen would believe he would do this of his own accord.

“I only meant to hear him out,” Laurent went on. “I only meant to discuss his intentions. I did not know—“

Damen did not know.

“Auguste wished for him to court me,” Laurent explained, a petulant look on his face as he swiped harshly at his tears, turned his face away from Damen, his teeth nearly bared in his anger. “Auguste, the /shining/ prince of—“ Damen knew who Auguste was to Vere, to Laurent. He did not need to go into that. “It was his final wish, recorded on paper, and now they /all/ know. My court is spreading the word as we sit here, and what am I to do, Damen? What do you expect of me?”

He had to allow this act. He had to justify it somehow to his own gain. He would have to let Fynn court him for appearances, and...perhaps if Laurent did that, whether things went in Fynn’s favour or not...they could have some sort of relationship with Kempt again. There was a way this went where Laurent kept the respect of his people, gained the respect of Kempt, and benefitted in the long run from a relationship with Kempt, while /also/ having Damen there, at his side.

Laurent did not want to do it.

But he had to.

* * *

Damen had never seen Laurent cry. Certainly not twice in one day. He had seen happy tears, he supposed, but this was new territory. He let Laurent hide against him, and Damen bundled him tight in his arms not a moment later, pain be damned. He listened, his heart dropping because for a moment it sounded like Lauent had already made the decision to allow Fynn to court him.

But instead of speaking, he listened more, brow furrowed with concern. he had never heard Laurent mock Auguste before, or show anything for him but sadness and fondness. It shocked him to hear, and led to a better understanding of what was happening.

He would kill Fynn. With his bare hands, slowly, exquisitely. A fight to the death to keep Laurent was only fitting, and all knew who would win.

“I will find a way to make sure Fynn does not have a chance with you,” he said, curling finger under Laurent’s chin. He was beautiful when he cried, Damen noted as he thumbed tears away. Laurent could do nothing that wasn’t beautiful.

“I will fight him,” Damen said. “Settle things honorably, in any setting he likes. I will win, and this will no longer be an issue. In the meantime, we play his game, allow him to feel you might choose him. I knew this was all too convenient.”

He hugged Laurent to him again, tucking his chin against Laurent's hair.

“I will not let him hurt you this way again,” Damen vowed. “I will kill him first."

* * *

“No—“

Damen was such a breathtaking man, so undeniably good and fair...but Laurent knew Fynn, and he knew Fynn was very similar to Damen in that fact. It would be unjust to allow Damen to think otherwise.

“Damen...” Laurent started, and though he did try to hold Damen’s gaze, it did not last the entirety of what he had to say. He was ashamed to say it - not who Fynn was, but what that would sound like to Damen.

“Fynn is a good man.” Laurent held Damen’s gaze for that. “I cannot let you hurt him when he has done nothing wrong.” To anyone else, it would have sounded hypocritical - even to Damen it might have been questionable, but Laurent went on all the same. “He has not done this to hurt me, and he has not done it to hurt you.”

Though they both knew Fynn was not exactly /against/ hurting Damen.

“He is doing what he believes to be right by Auguste...” And by Laurent, but that did not need to be said now. “And I—“

This was where Laurent had to look away, had to pull his chin from Damen’s hold so that he might look down at his hands.

He could not stand the way Damen pitied him like this.

“There will be no fight. Auguste - you /must/ understand this. If Auguste knew what we were, he /never/ would have asked this, but Fynn does not know that. The /kingdom/ does not know that.”

Laurent went quiet, and though he did not even know his hand was resting there, he squeezed Damen’s knee reassuringly...or to ground himself. He did not know.

“You have asked to know of my plans, and here it is.” Laurent swallowed thick, sniffed back any tears that threatened to fall during this. “I will give the guise that there is competition between you two, but there will be /no/ fight. It will seem fair as it will be public, and at the end, I /will/ choose you, I just—“

Laurent turned to face Damen again.

“I ask that you stay here. With me. Give the guise that you support it. Your...confidence will spur your men, will intrigue mine.”

And would make Laurent look no different than he always had.

“And so long as we keep going relations, perhaps...perhaps we garner Kempt’a resources as well, Damen. I could— /we/ could unite /three/ kingdoms, Damen.”

* * *

Damen didn’t understand how Fynn could be a good man when he was so clearly backing Laurent into a corner! Damen scowled, anger simmering in his blood. there was no scenario where Fynn was a good man. Not with what he had just been told! Damen was ready to kill him right in front of the court if that was what it came down to, yet Laurent did not want him to.

He scoffed. “Has not done this to hurt us? Are you listening to yourself?” He couldn’t help but say it. “The whole court knows why he has come—how would they know that if he did not tell them?”

But he let Laurent finish after that, taking it all in. It made no sense to him, but he knew Laurent was right. It made him feel ill, but Laurent was /right/. The Veretians would want a proper competition their way, and Laurent would have to give it to them. To Fynn. Damen had planned to be basking in the warm sun of Ios in a matter of weeks, and now he knew he would be stuck here, in dreadful winter, his betrothed courting another.

“This is ridiculous,” Damen said after a long silence. He still planned to kill Fynn at the end of it all. “And what if he does win you over?” he asked, because he did fear it. “Who am I to face someone who has the blessing of Auguste? He is obviously attractive, and you say he is ‘good.’ Who is to say he will not sway you? What am I supposed to do then when I have allowed this?”

He did not know how he could live without Laurent.

“Of course I will stay,” he added. “I will not have you face this alone. I will…pretend I support it, for the sake of proving our love is real.” Well…that might actually be a good idea. “But if at any point you feel…you feel he is becoming more to you, you must tell me. I know you say it is impossible, but that is what I thought about Jokaste, and I am sure what my mother felt about my father. I simply wish to know so that I will not be blindsided again. Promise me."

* * *

“Damen—“ Laurent started at the very blatant admission of doubt, and though Laurent wanted to stop him right there, he let Damen finish. He needed the extra few moments to compose himself anyway.

“I would /never/,” Laurent did start the moment he saw any opening and he knew he could speak without a hiccup or start, “/Ever/ let anyone else have my heart as you do, Damianos. It...offends me that you would doubt me in such a way, /but/—“ Laurent started before Damen could defend it. “I understand I am...difficult to love at times. That I am...that I do things that make you feel as if my love is...temporary, but you must understand that it is /not/.”

It would be what got them through this, if nothing else.

“There is no scenario where he wins this.” Laurent took Damen’s hands in his own, clasped them tight in a way that made their matching bands clank together.

“I would be lying if I said I did not also do this for my brother,” Laurent said honestly, and though more tears threatened at his eyes, he had enough composure now to stifle them. “But Auguste only ever asked him to take a chance. I allow that for Auguste. The rest of this is politics, Damen. Do not let the politics of Vere come between us, too.”

And then, Laurent said again despite what Damen had already agreed to:

“I need you here, Damen. It will only be for a couple weeks more.”

* * *

Laurent hadn’t promised. At one point in his life Damen had foolishly believe Jokaste was the love of his life. He had been fully prepared to make her his queen, fully prepared to have a child with her—many, actually. She had claimed to love him the same way, many times. He had believed her. With all of his heart, he had believed her. And then she had turned on him, gone to be with Kastor within one night, something he doubted had been simply a change of hands in one evening once she had learned of his plans.

Damen has kept her around constantly. He still could not figure out when she had time to be with Kastor, but she had done it, an abandoned him.

Damen knew Laurent loved him dearly, and that their bond was more or less unbreakable. More or less. In fact, the only thing Damen could see breaking them was Auguste returning from the grave and forbidding it. And yet that was exactly the situation, to an extent.

He was Laurent’s first love, his first relationship, his first true lover. He knew that was special, but he also knew that he had been Laurent’s only. Someone new was exciting, regardless of it being proclaimed false.

Damen smoothed back Laurent’s hair and kissed his forehead, pulling him close again.

“I will stay,” he assured with another kiss to the crown of Laurent’s head. “I will be at your side.”

Until the end, he almost finished, but decided against it. Fynn had all of the pieces that Damen lacked—he had known Laurent as a young boy, had the approval of Auguste, had the love of the Veretian people /and/ the court. Damen only had the past few years, tumultuous though they were. He hoped that would be enough.

* * *

Laurent let himself curl into Damen for a long moment, resting his head on Damen’s shoulder, still so mindful of his chest. Laurent closed just eyes, felt Damen around him, close to him. He would never give this man up.

Fynn was different, yes. Fynn had the advantage of knowing Laurent at a young age, but Laurent was no longer that child. He wasn’t that adolescent, not even that teen. Fynn may as well have known Lucien at that point, as Laurent had come too far from who he had once been.

And...maybe Fynn had the capacity to pull that person out of Laurent again, but it would not be easy, and Laurent was not so sure he would even allow it. Laurent was not so sure that person would benefit him any more.

But Laurent respected Fynn. Fynn was just as special to him as he had been to Auguste. He would like to keep some sort of relationship with him...even if it did not end in a union between Vere and Kempt.

After a few long moments of reorienting his thoughts back to /Damen/, Laurent pulled away, searching Damen’s face in an attempt to get some sort of read on anything he had not been open and honest about.

“And what do /you/ need,” Laurent asked softly but diplomatically, “to make this alright?”

* * *

Damen didn’t feel the need to say anything as he held Laurent in his arms. They had been through so much together. Too much of it had been hardship. Their little trip to the seaside village had been the most free they had been since they had met each other, or perhaps since their visit to the summer palace.

He would give his life for the man in his arms. Laurent was the one whom he loved most, and would give anything to have forever. If they had to fare this battle too, he would do it. But he was not sure how he would survive if Laurent chose to be with Fynn in the end.

His eyes were full of devastation when Laurent pulled back to look at him, and Damen could not hide it. Charade or not, he was going to have to pretend to support allowing another man into Laurent’s private life. Normally Damen would encourage it—Laurent needed more allies—but this time Fynn was going to be courting Laurent, likely with the backing of the court.

“I have no answer,” he confessed quietly. He held Laurent’s gaze, fingers carding through his hair. “I would ask that if you must go riding with him, I would ask that you take Nikri, or another horse, not Ven.”

Kempt was renowned for their exceptional horses, even more so for the horsemanship of its people. Fynn was likely a better rider than Laurent and Damen combined, if he was a true representation of his kingdom.

“And I would like to know when you have been with him,” Damen said. “I do not wish to know /what/ you do, but I would like to know when you have spent time with him."

* * *

Damen’s stipulations were understandable, and Laurent readily agreed to it with a simple, decisive, “I promise you,” not seeing anything to argue about.

Well, he had to to argue for Ven’s sake - it was his horse after all, one he loved dearly and had trained to his very specific style - but he did not see it being so large a problem. He would just...take Ven and dare Fynn to say something negative about his horse.

Though...Laurent understood Ven was a gift from Damen, and it would be disrespectful to go against his wishes.

He frowned.

“You think she cannot stand against a Kemptian bred mount? She is a better horse than Nikri.” Laurent did object in an attempt at being playful, but the energy was not there.

Laurent wrapped his arms around Damen’s waist, felt the rise of scars against his forearms at Damen’s back. His frown was already too deep to go further. He would not be affected by those too this night.

“You doubt my horse as you doubt yourself,” Laurent murmured then, resting his head, staring out across their room. He wondered if this meant Damen would have to stay in another apartment, away from him. Laurent had never been properly courted before, especially not by two men at once. He did not yet understand what this would mean for Damen’s stature in Vere...

He did not yet understand what this would do to his stature with Damen.

He did not want to think of it.

* * *

Damen didn’t doubt Ven, but he had chosen Ven for Laurent. He had chosen her because she was a fine mount, and her coloring made Laurent look even more regal on her back. He did not want Fynn to see Laurent looking so striking. Of course he would still see Laurent in fine clothes and no man could resist looking at a king, but…

“I am trying not to doubt,” he said truthfully. “But I hope you have thought this through. It is not so easy as accepting Fynn’s courtship. There is much more that must happen.”

He knew this might very well be his last night in Laurent’s chambers. He hoped not, but Damen had been courted before, and was not permitted to lay with Jokaste while a visiting duchess was presented. Of course, he had defied his father and slept with her anyway, but he doubted it would be so easy now, in Vere.

“Ven was a gift from me, for example,” Damen said. “Fynn will be welcomed by Vere, I will not. The people would see it as disagreeable to ride the Akielon horse I bought for you when riding with a Kemptian Duke. Nikri was bred in Akielos, but by a Patran sire and dam. It is quite obvious in his stature and coloring. Not so for Ven.”

He did not find the joke about Nikri funny.

“Things will be very different,” Damen said. “Nothing can be assumed. My accompanying you to meals, attending court and holding hands as we often do, and they may very well ask you to remove your cuff. In fact, I am certain they will. I will be reduced to a visiting king. Wedding plans will be put on hold, I will not be called your betrothed.”

He swallowed hard.

“I hope it is worth it."

* * *

Laurent would not have known what to expect. It was not as if he had seen Auguste being courted in such a way. They travelled for him /to/ court princesses and noblemen’s daughters across the lands. Laurent had been young. He had never picked up on the idiosyncrasies of courting. He had not yet realised what he would need to give up.

His hand went to encircle his cuff subconsciously, his thumb circling at the metal there. He would not give it up. Not one person could make him. He would spin a thousand tales and justifications to keep it on his wrist, and may the gods have mercy on the man who tried to remove it from him without his consent.

It would not be worth it. The loss of Damen by his side when he needed him, the inability to have his hand, to stand pridefully by a decision he had made, controversial as it was. His wedding, the union they had worked for, delayed even longer.

It would not be worth it.

“Auguste has asked it,” Laurent resounded quietly, not looking away from Damen as he so desired. It was so difficult to see him like this, saddened and distraught. Laurent longed for one of Damen’s golden smiles, his hearty laughter.

At least Damen would be near.


	3. Part I: Terms and Conditions (24.5.2020)

_Auguste has asked it_. Damen closed his eyes. He knew he had no right to talk on the power of ghosts, but he could think of nothing Kastor could ever do that would make him leave Laurent, even only for appearances. Not even his father would have been able to sway him unless he had some sort of proof that Laurent was only using him—and he knew full well that there was none.

“Well, I should be happy to have more more night with you then,” Damen said quietly. Laurent hadn’t seemed to grasp the gravity of what was occurring, and Damen knew that there would be no talking him out of it now.

So he stood and helped Laurent to his feet to begin undressing him. The doublet was off in a matter of moments, then it came to the unfortunate task of unlacing. Damen found it easier with the style of clothing Laurent had chosen this evening, and it wasn’t long before his pants were unlaced, his boots off, his fine silk shirt glowing in the warm firelight.

“I think it would be wise for you to have trustworthy counsel,” Damen said as he folded Laurent’s clothes and set them aside. “Someone you trust to guide you through this. Someone older with experience in courtship. I only know the Akielon ways, and my steering you wrong would only hurt your goal.”

He could only think of Lady Vannes, but he also suspected she might be behind this somehow.

“A public appointment will ensure that they will not use you for their own gain, and we all know I am not the favorite in this affair—“ Affair, yes, that was the correct word— “so I think you could choose almost anyone in your court."

* * *

Laurent helped where he could when it came to undressing, not fully comfortable with Damen attending to him now. He was also in quite the hurry to get out of his clothing. Once more, he and Damen were facing something of a final night together, and Laurent wanted to make the most of it.

It would only be temporary. He had to tell himself that.

“I do not need counsel,” Laurent did boldly reply, unlacing the silk tunic left behind by Damen’s hands. It hung loose around his wrists, his collar. “I will navigate this myself and do as I see fit when it needs to be done.”

Laurent took a step forward, unpinned the golden lion at Damen’s shoulder to loose his chiton. Laurent weighed the clasp in his hand for a second before setting it aside with his own clothing, attending to Damen now as he had been so kind to do for Laurent.

“I am new to this, yes, but this is...more of a game than an actual attempt at courting - than an /affair/.” Yes, that was a good way to look at it, for the both of them. It was also much less offensive to Laurent. He did not see this as an affair, but as an obligation. It would be over soon enough. He would have Damen by his side again before he had to go away to Ios.

“There is no one I trust as I do you, Damianos.”

* * *

“It would improve your image to have one,” Damen said. “And validate your final decision.” He wanted to believe that he would be Laurent’s final choice, but he knew how the heart could work. He knew how /Laurent/ could work. And while their relationship was strong now, weeks could change any man. Perhaps Fynn would make Laurent feel more special than Damen could.

“Consider it,” Damen said as his chiton fell away. He remembered how it had felt the first time he had willingly disrobed for Laurent, and how tantalizing the thought had been many times before that. How desperately he had wanted to kiss him so many times before that.

He curled his finger beneath Laurent’s chin and kissed him, warm and sweet. His body was still covered in fading marks of their lovemaking, just as Damen preferred him. He would have to do his work all over again when this was over. Or they would be the last of his making.

“I assure you it is not a game to him,” Damen said. “And if he is a good man as you say, treating it like a game may very well make him a bad one."

* * *

The kiss almost made Laurent change his mind on the spot, almost had him damning his brother’s wishes, his court’s opinions, his people’s impression of him. It was over too soon, leaving Laurent to chase it, hoping for more affection when Damen only wanted to give him political insight.

“Stop talking about it,” Laurent ordered softly, taking up the space between them, bringing Damen down into another kiss, just as soft as Damen’s had been. He did not want to seem as desperate as he felt. He just wanted to feel this love while he could, for he knew how /Damen/ worked. He would be difficult through this, and understandably so. But Laurent wanted tonight. He needed tonight.

This would stay a game to him, and only a game. He would not lose Damen to his court, would not let them win. He would have this union to Akielos, to Damen...and if all things went well, he would have that as well as union to Kempt.

He could do this.

They had overcome so much worse.

* * *

Damen was thankful when Laurent pulled him in. He needed to feel wanted, he realized as Laurent pressed close. He wanted to feel like Laurent wanted him, even when their bones were so tired from a day of travel after days upon days of lovemaking. But the energy between them now felt new, and Damen’s hands moved at Laurent’s waist, over his ribs, his hips.

“I love you,” Damen whispered when he pulled away.

He could feel Laurent wanting him, but for the first time ever, Damen didn’t want to tumble into bed and make love. It didn’t feel right when they had just agreed to allow another man to court him.

“Please show me favor,” Damen said suddenly, because he couldn’t bear indifference from Laurent tomorrow. He took Laurent’s hands and brought them up to his face. “I need to know you are still mine.” If Laurent looked at him coldly as he had in the beginning, Damen wouldn’t be able to endure this.

* * *

Laurent could feel things just starting to get easier again—

And then Damen pulled away, leaving him holding air. He’d not expected resistance on this after everything, but he dropped his arms nonetheless, took the time to hear Damen our even as the cold crept over both their bodies. He knew Damen would feel it more so than him.

“I will not regress with you,” Laurent murmured, settling his hands on his bare hips. He much preferred Damen’s touch there. His hands had been large, warm, rough. Even Laurent had the callouses from his sword, but his hands were thin, his fingers not as prepossessing as Damen’s. He wanted Damen’s touch now, could not care to talk about this any longer.

“You are and still will be my betrothed.” He had to put this to rest, did not want to waste these hours any more than they already had. “I will not cast you aside, even for this act. I will not give them that, even when they expect it. I am bent to their will enough here. I’ll not kneel to it.”

* * *

Damen just couldn’t shake that perhaps Laurent hadn’t a clue what he was agreeing to do. Laurent could say they were still together, still betrothed, but that was not going to be how it was in public. Damen had to follow the customs of his people as well. They were more relaxed than Vere, but he still had to do as he had learned as a prince.

“Problems for tomorrow then,” Damen said quietly. “What are your desires for tonight? I would like a bath.” They had been traveling for almost a week, and the baths at the inn were far from comfortable compared to what they were used to.

“Will you come with me?” he asked. HIs chiton was still around his waist, and he could cover Laurent with a cloak if needed. “Take my cloak, we can soak in the baths and leave all of this nonsense behind for a little while."

* * *

  
Laurent would have preferred to fall into bed, to lay together amidst the cushions and pillows, laughing about this little game of theirs, but a bath would not be so bad. He supposed he could use it, if only to steam the headache from his head.

“That sounds wonderful,” he relented to Damen, calling for the bath to be drawn through the large doors to his apartments, his eyes still on Damen.

His curls were starting to grow long. Laurent had seen many Akielons with /long/ hair, but he could not picture Damen without his royal tousle - a perfect nest for his laurel crown. His father and brother had worn the same style. Laurent’s own hair was already tickling between his shoulder blades at its longest point, much as Auguste’s had...and then some. They had both inherited their mother’s hair of spun gold, but Laurent had always settled for something more practical. Auguste, perhaps, had not done many things with a matter of practicality. Wearing his hair long even in battle, convincing Kemptian royals to court his brother via letters...

Laurent blinked himself back into the moment, cleared out those thoughts. He did not like what this stress was doing to him already. He shook it out, ran his fingers through his long hair.

In passing to the offered garment on the couch, Laurent grabbed a pair of scissors from his desk and, once wrapped in Damen’s warm cloak, he handed the shears over to his betrothed. Damen had attended him over many months on the road. He knew what to do.

“The baths,” Laurent prompted, taking Damen’s free hand in his. He would not give it up until he was made to do so.

* * *

Damen cocked a brow at the shears but took them. Laurent wanted a haircut? Damen could cut hair well enough, and he would be able to cut Laurent’s as short as he wanted it. He hoped Fynn hated it. He supposed he could cut his own hair as well, as it was getting far too long for his liking.

They made the short walk to the baths and Damen relaxed as the warm steam swirled around them as they entered. The smell of Veretian perfumes brought a smile to his lips.

“I’ve missed this mall,” Damen sighed. “It is how you usually smell when you have been in Vere. It left your skin on our trip, but I will be glad to have it return.” His chiton fell from his waist with one flick of his fingers, and Damen strode right into the hot water.

“This is what I needed,” Damen sighed, sinking into the bath. He was absolutely exhausted, and thi situation had only worsened it. “Come, wet your hair so I can cut it."

* * *

Laurent wished he knew what smell Damen meant. It could be any number of scents, from the perfumes to the oils in the baths, to just the smell Veretian water carried. He had grown up around the smells, had gone nose blind to them all, but if he could, he would find the exact smell Damen loved, bottle it, and let it have him with him always. Laurent would keep it for himself too, in Arles, when the smell began to fade.

“I prefer your scent,” Laurent resounded easily, and wrapped in the cloak, he could smell Damen, Webb now. He had not yet been taken by the Veretian perfumes. But he could not hold the cloak there for too long, as it would not be a welcome accompaniment in the baths. He folded it nicely before he sat it on a chair, stepping over the tiles towards Damen.

“I do hope it is not chalis you are smelling,” Laurent did joke as he sunk into the water easily, his muscles grateful for the warmth. He had tensed himself up today, and it almost felt irreparable.

Dunking his head in the fresh waters only helped, right until he came back up looking like a soaked cat. Wet and stick straight, his hair reached passed his shoulder blades, and even the front sections curtained his face. He had had it pulled back for so long he did not even know it.

He turned to Damen, peering between his hair, and he smiled despite himself, laughing softly as he parted it from his face.

* * *

“My scent? I thought you didn’t like the smell of horses,” Damen teased, leaning against the far wall of the bath. He inhaled deeply, and while he did catch the scent of chalis, that was not what he always smelled on Laurent’s skin. But he did smell it now, something flowery but thick in the air, like an oil, but gentle like petals.

He laughed when Laurent emerged from the water, but noted that he had grown since summer. In summer he had still looked boyish when soaked, but now he still looked like a young man. His shoulders had broadened, his arms too.

Damen pulled him in for a kiss, setting the scissors aside. It was harder to think of Fynn when he was surrounded by so many things that reminded him of Laurent.

“How short?” he asked, his hands running the length of Laurent’s back. “Off your shoulders, I think. What do you say?"

* * *

Laurent climbed into Damen’s lap, knees balanced on the little seat that ran the perimeter of the bath, comfortably moving into the kiss, thinking it would last much longer. He was not remiss when it did not. Damen seemed in the mood to take this whole night to be with him, and Laurent would dismiss sleep entirely if it meant making Damen happy.

He hoped Damen knew that.

“I only ask you do not make me look seven years old,” Laurent murmured, looking down at his chest to see where the length of his hair fell. “Off my shoulders would be wonderful, yes.” It was where he usually wore it.

* * *

Damen was so in love with Laurent of Vere. He grabbed Laurent by the backs of his thighs and stood in one motion, gently depositing him on the side of the bath so the water wouldn’t be filled with Laurent’s hair. He knew he had to work quickly before the steam curled the end of Laurent’s thin hair and made for a mismatch.

“It will seem a little longer because it’s wet,” Damen reminded him, and then he set to work. Back in the early days of his slavery, part of his duties as a soldier had included cutting hair. Damen wasn’t the most skilled at it, but he did take care to make sure the men hadn’t looked terrible. Many had come back to him for their next cut, and obviously Laurent trusted him, so he couldn’t be so bad.

He did go a bit shorter than he’d originally said he would, but only a bit. Just to give Laurent a bit more youth to his stunning beauty…and because he was hoping that Fynn didn’t like it that way.

When he finished, Damen sat back to look Laurent over.

“We will see when it dries,” he said, setting the scissors aside once more. “But that surprise will have to wait.” He grinned, pulling Laurent to his chest—

And fell back into the water, dunking them both.

* * *

Laurent didn’t feel the need to hold on to Damen for dear life even as he was lifted well out of the water where Damen had no assistance with gravity. He went with the motion, his only discomfort being the chill at his back when he was out of the water, but even the brasiers did away with that in mere moments. Yes, he would have hoped to stay pressed mindfully against Damen the whole evening, but he understood the need for distance here.

Laurent watched the fire dance in their golden alcoves, listened fo the soft sounds of Damen moving in the water behind him, the snipping away of months and months of hair he’d simply forgotten to care about. It reminded him of the night when Damen had last done this for him. It had been just after battle, Laurent’s hair thick with sweat, blood, dirt. It had hung wrong in his eyes twice, and he’d almost had three men flogged for it.

Over a year ago, that had been. Laurent could hardly believe it.

But he could see it in Damen, could see him ageing gracefully, growing into his role as a king. His renderings in stone would be the most becoming of any Akielon king, Laurent had no doubts.

He felt Damen brushing at his back when the cut was finished, and before Laurent could even feel at its new length, Damen was attempting to drown him.

Laurent grasped for the surface of the water in a last ditch effort not to go under, but it was not a viable option for escape. Damen pulled them both under the warm water, into the deafening silence of the baths. Laurent was merely grateful he’d been able to take breath before ring submerged. That way he could press his foot to the bottom of the ledge they’d once sat on, anchoring Damen down to the bottom of the bath with his body.

Two could play this game.

* * *

Damen kept his arms tight around Laurent as they went under, but not so much that he would restrict his lungs and prevent him from holding his breath. It had been a long time since Damen had submerged in any form of water, but it made him smile now. He longed for Ios, where the sea was just as warm, but where it also smelled like salt and summer.

His grin widened when Laurent pinned him, and Damen found it to be a good pin, but still one he could get out of. Akielon wrestling made Damen especially conscious about being on his back, and to know the ways to avoid it.

He lifted a leg and hooked it around Laurent’s calf, then drew in with his heel. It required quite a bit of power because Laurent was so strong, but Damen had size and weight to his advantage.

When he finally burst to the surface, he was laughing breathlessly.

“You try to drown me after I have served you so faithfully?” Damen teased, pulling Laurent to him by the hips. “Your Majesty,” he said in his worst Kempt accent, pulling Laurent’s hand to his lips to start showering it with kisses. “Who has blessed us with such a fine cut of your hair. May I collect the sheared pieces? I would so love to keep them in my saddlebag."

* * *

Laurent was not trained in any way or form to hold his breath under water for long periods of time. Vere has no use for such training, no beaches or natural waters that were safe to stay under for more than a few seconds, but he’d had every intention of holding out for breath until Damen tapped out—

Or wrestled his way out of Laurent’s pin.

Laurent didn’t have a counter in the world more important than getting air, and when he came up, he was laughing just as hard as Damen, albeit /much/ more breathlessly, hand on his chest and all.

And Damen certainly was not helping with all the jokes.

His hand not being showered with kisses ended up on Damen’s waist, squeezing there when Damen went into the terrible accent. That was /not/ what those of Kempt sounded like. Damen made it sound very harsh, very aggressive—

And very, /very/ funny.

“Stop that,” Laurent laughed, and still in the spirit of their wrestling, he splashed Damen from the side before pulling his hand swiftly from his betrothed’s grasp, just as quickly working it around the back of Damen’s head, and pulling him in for a kiss. And Laurent took charge of that kiss, not giving Damen the opportunity to keep up his little ruse. Laurent would have /nothing/ of Kempt here tonight.

* * *

Damen hadn’t seem Laurent in such a teasing mood in the palace for some time. He couldn’t stop smiling, though the Kemptian he was trying to imitate was a very serious soul indeed. AT least, Damen’s version of him was. He kept trying to keep his face in check, and that only made him laugh more.

Laurent wrestled his hand free and before Damen could make a move to grab it, fingers were curled in his hair and Laurent’s mouth was on his. He accepted the kiss, then succumbed to it when Laurent made it clear this was not part of the game. The want in him had not left, it appeared.

“I am not used to this Laurent,” Damen purred when the kiss was finally broken. He nosed lovingly at his betrothed and smiled breathlessly. “I would have loved to have seen him before we left Marlas.” Back in the sweet heat of summer, when Laurent had barely been dressed at all.

He laughed when he moved to curl his fingers in Laurent’s hair but found it much shorter than he was used to.

“I already forgot,” he laughed. “But you do look wonderful."

* * *

“It is the same Laurent,” he replied easily, hands coming to rest again on Damen’s hips. “I am just unaffected by the heat here.” And the heat still had the most adverse affects on Laurent. He was not sure he would ever get used to it.

He felt Damen’s hair tickle the back of his neck where his hair now just barely rested, and he could not help but laugh with Damen. It was the compliment that got to him. He was in such a mood where seeing Damen happy, enjoying Laurent, and admiring him was absolutely priceless. Especially when he thought he was losing it just moments again.

“You prefer my hair like this,” Laurent said more as a question than a statement, eyebrow raised. Truth be told, he genuinely was curious. Damen had a preference for women as well, after all. Laurent always wondered what it was about them that Damen did see, did /enjoy/, often wondered where he fit in. He straddled gender when dressed - a little less every day as he grew older, he thought.

More than that, he could not help but notice, “It’s as it was when you first met me.”

* * *

Damen grinned. So Laurent had noticed. “Yes. To me this is your hair as I know it,” he said. It wasn’t that he preferred it necessarily, but it made him feel more at home, safer. This was the Laurent he knew, the one he had won over after many months, without a proper courtship.

He leaned in to press a kiss to Laurent’s pink cheek, soft as the peaches of Ios. His love for Laurent only grew each day, and he hoped that love would not slow now that someone else was vying for it.

“It is a much better hairstyle for your earrings,” he teased. “This way they will be slightly hidden until you lean over to whisper filthy things to me.”

He wished that one of Laurent’s council could have seen him as Soren: debauched, flirtatious, practically grabbing Lamen by the cock to lead him to bed. Some of that had rubbed off on Laurent apparently.

“Speaking of filthy things, will you tell me your plans, or am I to just see them staring back at me?"

* * *

Laurent was a bit more bold now, yes. He had taken a whole four days to explore himself, to explore Damen. He had spilled his guts on his past, had shared all he could with Damen - as willingly as he could. Laurent has taken something Damen said he was not ready for and /showed/ Damen he was wrong. Yes, Laurent had some newfound boldness...much as he had on his /last/ last night with Damen.

He ran his hands through his hair, flushing softly at the mention of those earrings. Laurent was blessedly already flushed from the bath however, so it was not so bad for him.

“When this is all over, before the wedding, we should.../visit/ our friends Soren and Lamen again,” Laurent murmured with a teasing smile, his fingers chasing a sluice of water down Damen’s broad chest. “I am sure we can find the time on the way to Ios together.”

But before then, his /plans/.

“Which plans?” Laurent asked, hands sliding from Damen’s hips to his ass. He liked when Damen did that to him. “My plans for /you/, this evening? Or my plans for this little game of Vere?”

Laurent did not want to talk about either, if he were being honest. The first, he just wanted to see how they played out. The second, he...didn’t truly have figured out yet. He still had too many questions left unanswered, questions he knew would be front and centre at the competition tomorrow.

* * *

Damen could not imagine the thrill of Lamen and Soren on the road. It would be different than the last few times—no more Charls (better for Damen, as he most certainly did not picture Laurent when he said the name). He could already imagine sneaking around after dark, hidden in the low light of the convoy camps and stealing into the tents to press against each other in the tight spaces, Laurent’s mouth on his—

Laurent’s hands were on his ass. Damen was definitely interested. “Frankly, I do not care one bit about this game of Vere so long as I am to win your hand at the end of it,” he shrugged. “So the former, Your Majesty.”

His mouth found Laurent’s neck, mouthing along the column of his throat. “Though I am surprised you are still able to walk at all, with how many times I have taken you over these past few days.”

He let his own hand wander, his finger finding Laurent’s entrance and massaging slowly. “You made so many lovely noises,” he purred, turning his head to whisper in Laurent’s ear. “And yet tonight you still seem wanting. What have I not given you, Laurent?"

* * *

Damen had doubted him. That was not all that this came down to, but it was a large part of Laurent’s drive. He needed to show Damen that he was not someone to doubt, needed to fix his past mistakes that made Damen see him in such a way. He needed Damen to know that Laurent wanted him and only him. He needed Damen on his side in this.

But he wouldn’t say that. This was not the place, not the time.

“I have had time to recover,” Laurent smiled, unable to hold his grin back with Damen on his throat like that, his finger at his entrance.

“And you have not given me /peace/, Damen,” Laurent added in response to his betrothed’s question, his smile turning into something more sly, then. “I am in such a position where I need you, where I /desire/ you, and here I stand, unsatisfied, my mind unquieted.”

* * *

For all of Damen’s hesitation earlier, he should have known how easy it would be for Laurent to pull him right out of it. He simply could not resist when Laurent desired him, and he found it impossible to think about how Laurent could deny him so often. Though, in recent memory, Laurent had not denied him at all.

“Allow me, then,” Damen replied with a nibble to Laurent’s ear. “I will prove you are mine tonight.”

Damen had mounted Laurent like a stag in the rut back at the inn. It had been the wild, destructive type of lovemaking that was the result of only lust and deep desire. He could easily take Laurent again in such a way, but that would only do so much. Any man with a cock like his could fuck Laurent like that if he truly desired it.

No, if Laurent wanted to be quieted, Damen would do as he had not been permitted the first time.

It did not take him long to prepare. Damen set towels in the shallowest part of the entry incline, and pointed.

“Hands and knees,” he commanded with a wide grin. “I will not present you at court tomorrow with bloody kneecaps /and/ a limp."

Perhaps Lamen had given him more confidence too.

* * *

Laurent did not like to think of himself as manipulative. He was tactical yes, empathetic despite what people would say, and he liked to believe he had grown out of the snake he had been raised into. What he was doing here was not manipulative. He did not mean to leave Damen’s side in the morning, had no intention to use this to /best/ Damen. It was only meant to quell his mind— and surely it could not be seen as manipulative if Laurent also desired this! This was not manipulation.

He was still trying to convince himself of that - another reason he had so simply asked for /peace/. His mind was running wild and only Damen knew how to properly quiet it.

He gave Damen the space to set up whatever he pleased. Laurent took the time to run his hands through his new hair, his heart beating a little faster at Damen’s reason for the length. It pleased him - /warmed/ him to hear that Damen did not look back at what Laurent had been with disgust. He saw the good in so much, his beloved.

Auguste /would/ have liked him.

Thoughts of Auguste were easy enough to clear at a time like this however, and Laurent pushed it all right away, his gaze settling where Damen was pointing.

His eyebrow arched.

“They will only see my kneecaps if I am in Akielon clothing,” he murmured, but he would not entertain the idea of foregoing the cushion. He crossed the bath to it, hesitated for only a moment - checking his pride - before he crawled up onto the towels, in the position requested.

Oh, if either member of his guard were to walk in and see /this/.

“What are you planning?” Laurent asked, his voice confident despite his fluttering heart. “That grin is downright devilish.”

* * *

Damen was a bit surprised Laurent followed orders. They really had come a long way. “I do not even want your attendant to have any ideas,” Damen said. “I like to keep them guessing.” In truth, he didn’t really care what they thought of Damen and Laurent’s time in the bedroom, but he didn’t want Fynn to hear anything and get any ideas of how Laurent liked to be pleasured.

He didn’t answer about the planning. Instead, Damen drizzled perfumed oil onto the base of Laurent’s spine and began massaging it into his skin. His hands moved lovingly, up Laurent's back to his shoulders where the tension had collected. It would have been easier had they done this in bed, but Damen preferred the warmth of the baths. It would also help for cleaning off later.

When he rubbed at Laurent’s neck, he rubbed himself against his entrance, just for friction. His cock was slowly hardening, still sluggish from the days of spending himself as he had over the past few days.

But that didn’t matter.

Damen curled his fingers into Laurent’s hair. He had always wanted to fuck him like this in the beginning, but hadn’t earned the chance.

“Eyes forward,” he demanded, holding Laurent’s head in place.

With that, he leaned back and spread Laurent’s legs with his knee and free hand. Enough oil had slicked him for what Damen needed. He just had to hope Laurent trusted him enough.

“I will not stop until you are spent,” he warned. “Make what noise you wish to.”

His hand slid from Laurent’s hair, just as his mouth moved to Laurent’s entrance, and he pushed his tongue inside.

* * *

Damen was getting /bold/ with these orders of his. Yes, he was a king as well as Laurent’s only lover, and he had every right to bark them out, but if he thought he would get out of this without incident or payback, he would be sorely mistaken.

The only thing that kept Laurent quiet was curiosity. He was adequately soothed with the massage, with Damen’s large, warm hands smoothing over his muscles, kneading into those that needed it, but Laurent found himself on edge of not knowing what was coming next. Damen has access to Laurent in any way he desired, and Laurent trusted him through and through, but he would have liked a warning as to what was going into his body, when it would, and at what speed. Self-preservation and all that.

Laurent was surprisingly not put off by Damen’s possessive treatment of his body, and when his head was thrust forward, Laurent kept it that way. He knew he had the freedom to turn at any point without punishment, but again, the curiosity - as well as the heightened senses that came from not being able to /see/ Damen - kept him grounded.

By the time Damen got his tongue inside of Laurent, he’d actually startled him, made his thighs tense and stomach flutter as he gasped.

He forgot how confident - and rightfully so - Damen was with his mouth.

Laurent stifled what noise might have threatened to tumble from his lips by trapping them behind his teeth, but his lips still managed to form a little smile. His fingers grasped into the towel beneath him as he sought purchase, /something/ to ground himself and to keep himself like rocking back against Damen like some whore—

But even that did not take long.

* * *

Laurent did not protest. Damen hadn’t really expected him to, but he had expected _some_ resistance. When that didn’t happen, he hummed his approval, fingers digging into Laurent’s thighs to hold him in place. Last time he had only just begun to show Laurent what he could do with his mouth, and he’d been stopped.

This time, Damen didn’t relent. He worked his tongue expertly inside him, teasing every so often, and blatantly pulling back occasionally to allow Laurent to build on that want.

When the time was right, when he was properly fucking Laurent with his tongue and Laurent was pushing back against him for more, Damen took hold of Laurent’s cock and began stroking in time with his movements, squeezing just the slightest bit at the end of each thrust to give more friction.

He would see to it that Laurent finished like this. If only to prove he could do it, to prove that no one else would ever be able to.

* * *

It was such a different sensation, one that turned Laurent’s mind to mush as he tried to find out how he felt about it. It was certainly the most intimate he’d been with anyone in his entire life. He couldn’t imagine giving this right to /anyone/ else - which was probably why Damen had chosen to do this.

Laurent, unexpected even to him, let out a drawn out groan, his back bowing when Damen went in for the third time, after a brief pause that had Laurent’s insides roiling. It felt /good/ - so much so that he could not have held back that groan if he’d tried.

He refused to be embarrassed by it.

He broke his first rule when Damen grabbed hold of his cock. Laurent couldn’t help but drop his head and, in doing so, catch sight of everything happening behind him. Past his own pleasuring, he could just see Damen’s cock, and that only made Laurent groan again. To think that /this/ gave /Damen/ pleasure was something Laurent wanted to ask about...but would never have the gall to question. Damen attended him thoroughly no matter the context. That’s what mattered.

Laurent’s toes were curling, and at some point, he’d moved from his hands to his forearms, his face buried in his hands to keep himself from crying out too loudly as he felt himself growing all the more desperate. He had his hands in his hair, pulling it as Damen had back in that inn, but this time it was more for grounding than control.

“Fuck—“ Laurent grunted, pushing back again against Damen’ tongue, wishing the damned thing was about ten inches longer. He wanted Damen so much further inside of him, wanted to feel him so much deeper, wanted to be absolutely overcome with him—

“Don’t stop,” Laurent gasped out as an order, his voice strained as the warmth in his belly went hot, his pleasure pulled tight inside of him. Laurent took over the stroking of his cock when Damen would not just give him what he needed. "Don’t stop, Damen,” he gasped again, voice pitched a little higher this time. This was not something he thought he’d ever take enough pleasure to come from, thought he would stay too self-conscious to enjoy, but he had surpassed that.

“Damen, don't—“ He bit down on his lip, stifling back a cry as he felt the first bit of warmth spill over his hand. He worked himself right through it, eagerly pressing back against Damen, chasing that feeling of his warm tongue, grinding back against his face as he drew it all out.

* * *

Finally. Damen could feel when Laurent decided not to fight his pleasure. It was a beautiful thing, and though Damen’s mouth was aching, he didn’t let up. It was a particular challenge to help Laurent find release this way, but he was determined not to fail. He wanted to be the only one to claim Laurent this way.

Laurent’s hand folded over his, and Damen reluctantly let go to focus his strength on riding through Laurent’s backward movements. He worked his tongue in every way he knew how, fucking into Laurent with all of the power he could muster to find someplace deeper within him.

He hummed his approval when Laurent finally came and continued pleasuring him until he felt Laurent’s thighs trembling with his release. His jaw was definitely going to hurt, but he didn’t care. He had just done something no one else had for Laurent of Vere.

“Good enough for you?” Damen hummed, hooking an arm around Laurent’s hips to pull him back into Damen waiting lap. He wrapped his hand around Laurent’s, squeezing around it to help milk him through his orgasm. He loved Laurent like this.

“Has your mind been quieted enough?"

* * *

Laurent’s mind /had/ been quieted while Damen pleasured him, but the moment it was over, the moment Laurent had been sufficiently milked through it, his mind started to fill with thoughts again. Like how on earth had he just gotten off to /that/?

It had been pleasurable yes, but— the intimacy to do so had been— he’d never—

There was truly /no one else/ that Laurent would have allowed to do that.

“My mind is currently concerned for your jaw,” Laurent managed to chuckle, leant back against Damen’s chest, shaking loose his grip and, subsequently, Damen’s as well. He felt...open, and sloppily so, but...that was how he always felt after sex. It was part of it.

With Damen, he didn’t mind it.

Laurent did so boldly then turn his head just enough to capture Damen’s lips in a shallow kiss, thumbing idly at the side of his jaw as he did so.

“I will not reciprocate that,” Laurent started softly in between soft kisses. “But...” Laurent nodded over to where he’d just been sat, and his little soft-spoken ‘act’ fell away to a strict order. “Over there. Move.”

* * *

“My jaw will recover,” Damen hummed. His heart started bouncing in his chest when Laurent leaned back against him, dangerously close to his piercings. He sucked in a gasp when Laurent turned, but the kiss drove his worry away. As did the kisses that came after.

It was strange not to feel the same post-coital bliss as Laurent, but he didn’t mind it so much. He had done what no other man ever had nor would ever do. Damen most likely was the only man with enough guts to try it.

“As you wish,” Damen grinned. He had been wondering if Laurent would cut his hair. He stole another kiss before he moved back into the water. He was thankful that he at least had the water to hide his erection, because he didn’t want Laurent to feel obligated to do something about it. Damen had already claimed his victory for the evening.

“Not too short,” he warned. “I do not wish to look like a child."

* * *

Laurent had been taking the brief moment where Damen was not at his side to come back into his body fully. He could feel himself, still slick between his legs despite the water, and the muscles of his thighs were definitely still jumping beneath his tender skin where he was certain a few marks would form. He could still feel his heart's new cadence in his chest, especially with what he’d decided to do and, when he turned around, ready—

He saw Damen perched on the side of the tub, talking about....

A haircut.

“Oh, you poor dear,” Laurent playfully commiserated, his head tilted to the side, his eyes soft, his smile, blithe. “I will not be the one to cut your hair. I would absolutely butcher it.” Laurent had not been trained to use any blade in such a way. He, of course, has never been trained as a slave for a prince, so that was not a skill he had.

“No, no, you have men for that,” he dismissed, surprisingly /not/ sounding condescending despite what it might suggest.

“I was going to suck your cock,” Laurent said dryly, simply, without hesitation. “But if you would like me to try to cut your hair /instead/....”

* * *

Damen was sure his haircut would be the most interesting he’d ever had with his current predicament. But to have Laurent close and doing something he would never do for anyone else? That was more than enough for Damen.

Except…Laurent wasn’t going for the shears. Damen cocked a brow, unsure. Clearly he’d done something wrong, but he didn’t know what. It made sense that Laurent didn’t know how to cut hair, but Laurent had also not been taught how to pierce anyone’s nipples either.

“I have men, but—“

Damen choked on his words, eyes blowing wide. Lauren had /never/, not /once/ even indicated he had ever desired to take him into his mouth. Of course Damen had imagined it countless times, especially while he had been stuck in Ios without Laurent, but…

“You don’t—“ He swallowed thickly. His cock clearly showed what he thought about that proposal.

“Laurent,” Damen gritted out, but his blood was scorching with need. “Don’t do this unless you want to."

* * *

The reaction was more than Laurent could have asked for.

He supposed he had withheld this from Damen for some time, having only ever done it once, but it was hardly something he’d expressly /desired/ then, let alone an intimate thing. Having Damen pressed against a wall with a strict order not to touch him wasn’t who Laurent was /now/, and...Laurent wanted to return the favour for what Damen had done to him.

And he wanted to make this special.

“I only do things I want,” Laurent replied assuredly, and even if it wasn’t the truth, it sure sounded like it. Even if it did go explicitly against the /reason/ he wanted to give Damen this.

He moved in the water towards Damen, unable to miss that his suggestion had stirred something in his beloved. Laurent places his hands on Damen’s strong thighs and rubbed his hands up and down slowly, thinking this one over.

He knew what Damen liked - that wasn’t the hold up. Laurent needed to work this one over in his head.

After a little more than an acceptable amount of time for an intimate moment, Laurent having been momentarily lost in his thoughts, he took Damen’s hand and placed it on his own cheek.

“You can touch my face this time,” Laurent told him, his voice losing the softness of before and working into something much more authoritative. The disclaimers were important here. “You can touch my hair, but do /not/—“ He drew back on just how stinging his tone had taken with that order, softening its edges, meeting Damen’s eyes with an apologetic look.

“Don’t push my head down,” Laurent finished, squeezing just below the cuff on Damen’s arm to assure him that Laurent had made and would stand by this decision.

* * *

Laurent did love to tease him. Damen could scarcely breathe with all of the lust pumping through him, and his vision could only focus on Laurent’s face, his lips, his wet lashes. The way the water rolled down his perfect skin and wet his hair just slightly. It certainly helped that he looked like the Laurent Damen had first seen, the one he had wanted to pleasure him since very early on.

Laurent just stared. Damen tried not to squirm, but he was eager. He almost wanted to let Laurent take him in his hand first, because he looked hesitant. Instead, Laurent took his hand and brought it to his face.

He swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to /stop/ himself from pushing Laurent’s head down. It was an instinctual reaction for him to pull his lovers closer, so he could be further down their throat.

He hesitated. “I don’t know if I can do that,” Damen said sheepishly. He smiled. “Perhaps you should tie my hands?”

He was being completely serious, because he didn’t think that he would be able to do as Laurent asked, but he very much wanted Laurent’s mouth on him.

* * *

It may have been a joke, but Laurent decided to take it very seriously. He would have loved to trust Damen, to have Damen’s hands on his face but...from what he knew about Damen, he knew just what the brute might enjoy more.

It was easy enough to tie his wrists, after all. Laurent had only just removed the leather cord from his hair, and in its length, it was long enough to bind both of Damen’s wrists. Not to mention Damen was /willing/.

Laurent gracefully lifted himself out of the bath with his arms, climbed over the edge and fetched the cord to do just as he’d technically been told to. Of course, that meant coming face to face with Damen’s back but...what was done was done. Laurent could work around it.

He pressed a kiss to Damen’s shoulder as he worked an actual knot into the makeshift binds, only once using his hand to roll Damen’s shoulder back for something /slightly/ more comfortable.

“I wouldn’t do this were it not an issue,” Laurent promised Damen, but there might still be a hint of humour in his tone. He did loosen the knot a small but just so Damen could wring his hands if need be. He did not want to cause injuries.

When Laurent hopped back into the bath and got a sight of Damen well...he supposed he’d /never/ been more interested in sucking his cock.

“Comfortable?” He asked, not drawing this out to spite Damen.

* * *

Damen offered his hands openly, as he had while enslaved. The last thing he wanted to do was harm Laurent, and he could see no way of guaranteeing he wouldn’t disobey the rule if his hands weren’t tied. Not if he had Laurent’s mouth on his cock /and/ was asked to show restraint. He kept his gaze on the water before him, relaxing when lips pressed against his shoulder.

“I know,” he murmured, flexing his wrists to see what his movement was like. He simply hoped he didn’t fall off the ledge.

Laurent crawled back into the water, and Damen’s cock hardened further, fully erect and aching for friction. Damen knew he could snap his restraints with enough force, but he doubted he would have the will to do so when the consequence could be harming the man he loved.

“No,” he answered with a smirk. “I will not be comfortable until my length is down your throat. Even then I will hope for more.”

He spread his legs for better balance, once more flexing his wrists.

“I would appreciate it if you stopped staring and started sucking, my love."

* * *

“Is /that/ what you would like?”

Laurent liked Damen like this. He’d always been so strong, so very insubordinate in his time here, never one to be willingly bested even in the face of adversity. Laurent had admired it, looking back, even if it had done nothing but cause him great upset when he had first seen it. Damen had always been strong, been resilient.

It was nice to see that again, through a set of new eyes.

“I could refuse now, you know?” Laurent asked, stepping forward again, his hands smoothing up Damen’s muscles thighs, following down into the dip of his hips before running his hands back the other way. Teasing.

Damen’s biceps looked nice like this, bulging with his discomfort.

Laurent was not so sure he should like this as much as he did, but the control left him surging with a confidence that he /liked/.

But Laurent did not tease for much longer after that.

He knew how to pleasure Damen, had seen what he’d liked - and honestly, he knew he did not need to do much. This was so rare for Damen, after all.

But Laurent was not one to slack.

He started with a few pumps of his hand coupled with a few long licks up Damen’s length, prepping himself to, finally, start taking Damen into his mouth. In between working Damen into his throat properly, he settled his tongue into the slit at Damen’s cock head, buying himself time to relax his throat enough to—

Swallow Damen down, down, down, until his nose pressed into Damen’s skin, and there was nowhere else he could go.

He managed grace in it.

* * *

“You wouldn’t,” Damen challenged, but his voice was deep with lust. He needed Lauren to do this or he might very well burst with need. His breathing turned to panting and he squirmed, silently begging for stimulation. He already regretted having his hands tied—it felt like his tongue was tied as well.

Not for long, though, As soon as Laurent’s slender hand curled around his cock he let out a sigh of relief and bucked up into the touch. “Yes,” he praised, trying to encourage more. “More, please.”

He hissed when Laurent’s tongue ran up the length of his cock, and he /had/ to look, to watch the way he mouthed around his length, until Laurent finally took him in his mouth. It wasn’t enough, but when Laurent’s tongue lapped the head, Damen nearly came right then. He tested his restraints, unable to catch his breath.

And then Laurent graced him with the most beautiful sight Damen had ever seen. Warm wetness enveloped his length and he moaned loudly, rutting deeper into Laurent’s throat as best he could. Hs fingers dug into his palms, aching to fist in Laurent’s hair and yes, pull him in, yank him closer. The restraint was a very good idea.

“I’m so close,” Damen groaned, panting hard. “Please—Laurent!"

* * *

Laurent worked Damen until his jaw went sore, but he had to imagine Damen’s jaw had felt very similar and, not to be outdone, Laurent worked harder towards his goal.

His fingers dug into Damen’s thighs to keep him from bucking, to keep control and to only take as much as he could at a time. He refused to gag, even though Damen’s was the biggest to ever be in his mouth, and the only way he could guarantee that was if he the say in how deep Damen was at any given time.

And even then, Damen almost always ended up touching the back of his throat.

With Damen’s warning, Laurent picked up his rhythm, doing his best not to fully assault his own throat while also sucking Damen off to completion. He hollowed out his cheeks, bobbed his head shallowly while working his fingers as he could along the vein that ran the length of Damen’s cock, and when he knew Damen drew close, he relaxed his throat fully, ready to swallow what Damen had to give. There was no need to make any more mess than they had.

* * *

Damen didn’t need much more, but the show was the cherry on top. Laurent looked beautiful sucking him off, his cheeks dusted pink and hollowed—and those lewd sounds! Damen would beg for sleep every night in Ios when he returned, just to hear them.

“Laurent,” he warned, straining against the cord around his wrists. He wanted to hold Lauren’t hair in his hands, to feel him—

Damen came with a stuttering groan, nearly falling into the bath as he pumped into Laurent’s throat. Every swallow around his length only made him find more release within him, but it was so strange to not have use of his hands, even to hold himself up.

He worked at his restraints once more as he finished, but they held up surprisingly well.

“You are perfect,” Damen panted. “You must do that more often. Perhaps somewhere more comfortable.” He tried to reach out to caress Laurent’s cheek, but was once again reminded that he was tied. This was insufferable.

“I should also like to be untied,” he admitted with a chuckle. “To properly praise you."

* * *

The ache in his jaw alone would keep anyone in Vere from having to face a verbal lashing from their king for the rest of the day. Laurent pulled back, wiped the corner of his lips with his pinky before breaking out into a smile - something he had definitely not managed last time.

“Did you almost fall?” he asked, as if he’d not just swallowed a mouthful of his lover’s relief. It didn't even seem to faze him. He was only lucky that he’d spent Damen during their trip away, or he wasn’t so sure it would have been as easy.

Damen was absolutely glistening in the light of the brasiers, damp with sweat and steam. Laurent watched his chest rise and fall, caught the light catching and glinting against those beautiful new piercings of his, his chest even more pronounced with his arms tied back like that.

It would be indecent, but Laurent very much thought of having the sight carved in stone, mounted in their chambers.

Damen would murder him.

Laurent thought of keeping Damen tied like that for a little while longer, but Laurent was much more interested in Damen’s soft praise, in feeling his touch again. He would sacrifice this beauty for that comfort.

So Laurent stepped between Damen’s legs, reached around his body, and unbound Damen’s hands. It became more of an act of strength in breaking the band than if actually untying it...which only made Laurent smile more. Damen’s could have broken that at any time, but he valued Laurent enough to restrain himself.

Laurent truly loved him.

* * *

Damen very much appreciated that Laurent decided to untie him without getting out of the tub. He liked the tantalizing heat of Laurent’s naked body against his, even if his jaw was sore and his cock was thoroughly spent. He hadn’t expected anything of a sexual nature to happen between them for at least a few more days so that they could recover from the inn, but he was not disappointed.

When his wrists were finally freed, Damen wasted no time in putting his hands on Laurent’s hips. “I did almost fall,” Damen chuckled. He met Laurent’s mouth with in a kiss, pulling him in closer. He deepened the kiss, not worried to taste himself in Laurent’s mouth. He had been through much worse before.

“It is unfair that you are so skilled at taking me in your mouth,” he purred against Laurent’s lips. “You don’t even need it. Simply having your mouth on me is enough, and yet you must be impressive at everything.”

Damen kissed Laurent once more and slipped back into the warm water of the tub, thoroughly relaxed and pleasured. He would sleep well tonight.

“I supposed we should wash now,” Damen hummed. “Quickly, before I decide I must have you another time."

* * *

“It is unfair, isn’t it?” Laurent asked, his hands on Damen’s face, thumbing at the cut of his cheekbones. Laurent decided it was best /not/ to tell Damen he’d had a lot of practice In the art of sucking cock. This was not a mood he wanted to ruin.

“I would not allow you to have me again,” he murmured after this kiss, still practically sitting on top of Damen when they were supposed to be getting clean. Laurent was /clinging/, which would have been strange if tomorrow did not hold the weight that it did. Perhaps it was a little..../much/, but he wanted Damen to feel special, to see him in a way they /both/ knew no other would ever see Laurent as.

But it became too much for even Laurent after a few moments.

So he parted himself from Damen after a playful, “Clean yourself up,” and then he was on to Laurent-as-usual. He focused on bathing as he usually would, making it the utilitarian task that it was.

He could still feel buzzing in his veins, pleasure and happiness he would miss come tomorrow afternoon.

“My thighs are still jumping about,” he told Damen honestly as they climbed from the water, fetching towels for the both of them. He tossed Damen’s right at his face.

* * *

Damen took his precious moments of Laurent not wanting to leave him. He knew tomorrow would be a very difficult day, but in typical fashion, he avoided thinking about it. instead he focused on watching Laurent bathe as he bathed himself, still picturing the way Laurent's mouth had been around his cock.

When it was time to return to their chambers, Damen caught the towel with his face. He laughed, pulling it from his face and emerging from the water completely and dried off. He tied the towel at his waist and moved over to Laurent.

“I would be happy to massage them,” Damen offered cheekily. He took Laurent’s hand and squeezed. he brought Laurent’s knuckles to his lips and kissed.

“A satisfactory bath?” he asked. “You smell like proper Veretian royalty again."

* * *

“I will bind your hands again if you even attempt to touch me again this night,” Laurent warned, wrapping his own towel around his waist after shaking out his hair a bit. It would dry much faster now.

But Laurent did no such binding when Damen took his hand and gave it a soft kiss. If anything, Laurent encouraged it by stepping in to find Damen’s lips and prolong another kiss, another moment between them.

“You also smell like Veretian royalty,” Laurent murmured against Damen’s lips, eyes rising from where they had been closed to catch Damen’s gaze.

When Laurent pulled away, he turned his hand to take Damen’s, led them both past the guards and to the bedroom.

One guard at the door was Veretian, of Laurent’s guard, and the other was Akielon, of Damen’s army. Jord must have seen the Akielon soldier fit to employ.

Laurent hoped he enjoyed the view of his King, galivanting around with another man, another King.


	4. Part I: A Proposal (31.5.20)

Damen wasn’t expecting another kiss, but the surprise was a good one. His chest was fit to burst with affection, and he couldn’t recall Laurent ever being so openly affectionate with him. He liked it very much. He also wondered if this was what it would be like had Laurent not become king, if he had been allowed to grow up happy and protected from cruelty.

He chased the kiss when it ended, and his face likely read how dopily in love he was as they returned to their chambers. Fynn was forgotten, and Laurent was his world at the moment. He could see nothing else.

“How beautiful you look,” Damen purred, stealing a kiss to Laurent’s exposed shoulder. “Let us go to bed. I may well collapse after all that has happened today.”

He dropped his towel a moment later and crawled into their bed, thankful for the warmth and comfort of a proper bed. Their bed at the inn had been fine, but Damen hadn’t slept much in it.

“Do you think other kings have their versions of Soren and Lamen?” Damen asked, propping himself up with one arm. “Or other secrets, perhaps?"

* * *

“I do not know of many other kings who would need a Lamen or a Soren,” Laurent replied honestly, setting his own towel alongside Damen’s before moving into the bed as well. He had almost forgotten how fine good sheets could feel, especially in the cold of winter. Especially by Damen’s side. “In fact, I know of no other kings who cannot be adventurous and open with their queens - princes with their princesses....”

They were an anomaly, he and Damen. Two kings marrying. Laurent felt as if they never truly had stopped and talked about the actual logistics of such a union, but they would face that as they came to it.

“But a Lamen and a Charls...” Laurent smiled at the very thought. “I am sure there is a trapped-feeling prince out there somewhere who longs for a chase, an adventure. Most people do not have to chase their...intimacy as I do.”

But Laurent hardly sounded apologetic or broken up about it at all.

He rolled onto his stomach as close as he could get to Damen’s side, arms crossed as a pillow under his head. If Damen tried to drop from his arm, his head would hit Laurent’s.

“But I can assure you /every/ king has secrets, Damen.”

* * *

“I beg to differ,” Damen said. “There are plenty of things kings cannot be adventurous about. For a King of Vere I thought you would know.” He smiled, turning his head to face Laurent. “Before my father was married, and likely after, he bedded many queens, princesses, and perhaps princes too. Maybe even kings.”

They were different than most marriages. Before Laurent, Damen had multiple lovers even while he was with Jokaste. Monogamy hadn’t been something he had ever been raised to uphold—it wasn’t even expected of him as a king. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t slept with anyone else while with Laurent—that wasn’t typical of him. Perhaps because he couldn’t see himself with anyone else.

“Do you have secrets?” Daman asked, watching Laurent as he moved closer. “Aside from a Kemptian lover,” he teased.

* * *

“I have thousands of secrets,” Laurent assured Damen, all jokes aside, but that was not news to Damen. He knew many of Laurent’s secrets now, could probably guess most of the others, but Laurent was not so willing to share any more than he already had.

None of the serious ones anyway.

“Auguste used to sneak around with peasant girls,” Laurent did offer up as a sort of tribute, laughing softly as he remembered it. “He would have them in the apartments, and then sometimes, in the stables. So many of them. No one could resist him, and he—“

Laurent had never shared this before. He never had, not with anyone. He had never wanted to risk someone looking at Auguste as anything but perfect, a symbol of valour and truth.

He cleared his throat with a small chuckle, playing it off easy enough.

“Auguste let me touch my first pair of breasts,” Laurent shared instead, following the vein of the conversation, keeping it light. “It was one of the servant girls. Corianthis or...something like that. He pulled me into his apartments and— well, I had seen them /everywhere/, and they were...interesting, I suppose, but—“ Laurent shook his head, laid his hand flat against Damen’s chest. “I think I knew then I would be different. I could not even /think/ to touch her cunt.”

Auguste had never had pets, but he had his trysts, his women. And he’d kept them secret all of his life, narrowly avoiding a bastard or two along the way.

* * *

Damen was unsurprised to hear that Auguste had spent his time with women. Damen had only heard of Auguste’s habits from visiting royalty, but he hadn’t seemed like the type to want the company of men. Vere’s silly rules against bedding women just seemed like other loopholes for crafty Veretian royalty to get around.

But imagining Laurent touching breasts made his laugh. He had seen Laurent more annoyed by breasts than interested in them.

“You Veretians and your barbaric wording,” Damen laughed with a roll of his eyes. “Kastor showed me breasts far too young for me to appreciate them. One of his slaves—I wasn’t interested. A few years later and one evening I very much was. It was as if it happened overnight.”

After that, well. Damen had bedded anyone he pleased, as often as he pleased.

“Perhaps it is good I never visited when I was that young,” Damen chuckled. “I probably would have tried to bed him myself.” It was hard to think he would ever have been dawn away from Laurent, but at that young age, he would not have been interested in a child, and Auguste would have been quite enough for him.

“Bedding women is different, but easier in some ways. Less oil, for one,” he teased. “It’s strange though, I’m not tempted by them any longer. But to see you in your chiton? I’m driven wild."

* * *

Had Laurent used barbaric wording? He supposed he had seen Damen react to his use of ‘cunt,’ but what flowery language did Akielons use for it? Even Auguste had used the word, and he’d been a upstanding gentleman of charm and wit. He would /love/ to hear Damen describe his intentions to a woman, hear what words he sprinkled his affections with.

He supposed he’s had many opportunities to do so. The Vaskian tribe aside, Laurent knew Damen used to sleep with many a woman - including one he still had locked away in Ios. He had to imagine that Damen’s list of past lovers was even longer than Auguste’s. He would argue Damen’s standards were very different. They’d been a little more loose.

Like trying to touch the prince of a country who had just taken you in as a slave. Especially when you /knew/ you had killed his brother.

Laurent had no doubts that Damen would have tried to bee his brother were that in the cards of their past. Damen had tried to bed Laurent quite early on, after all, despite the person he had been, so it only made sense. Auguste had been just, and he’d been more handsome than Laurent had ever understood despite many rumours. Damen would have loved him, would never have spared a second glance to Laurent.

He didn’t like that idea.

He knocked Damen’s arm from under his head, moving his own quite quickly to avoid collision.

* * *

Damen caught jealousy in Laurent’s eyes just before he was felled, and it made him grin. Was Auguste truly that handsome? Damen had only seen his likeness in paintings, and those were well done, but he tended not to take portraits as a true rendition. No artist could capture Laurent, for instance.

“You agree!” he laughed, reaching over to dig his fingers playfully into Laurent’s ribs. “You actually agree!"

Damen hadn’t seen jealousy very often in Laurent’s eyes, but he did remember it when he had pleasured the women of Vask and Laurent had been particularly tempting in his nightgown. Now, Damen would not hesitate to lift the hem and touch anywhere he wanted. Back then he had been frightened of Laurent leaving him to the dogs.

“Have you ever had lovers of your own?” Damen asked. He knew the answer, for the most part. Laurent hated to talk about it, because of what his uncle had done. He rephrased: “Or, have you ever wished you could?”

He found Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Any Torvalds that you experimented with, or was touching breasts the extent of it?"

* * *

He had not even been given the opportunity to watch Damen’s head smack against the pillow.

Laurent did so hate to be tickled. Auguste used to attack him in such a way when they were young, and Laurent had truly never found a way out of it. It incapacitated him more than any drug could ever.

He was winded when Damen finally let him loose, panting from laughing so much. His jaw ached even more. Laurent was more than grateful to /relax/ after that little onslaught.

Damen certainly helped with the question he’d asked.

For a moment, Damen received one of Laurent’s signature unimpressed, cold stares. He knew better than to ask that question. Even thoughtlessly, in passing. Laurent was always so quick to react about it - even with Damen. He wished he were better about it, especially when Damen - who knew - realised and did a quick amendment to his question.

Laurent righted himself, softened his expression.

He wouldn’t have this night go anyway but right.

“No,” he sighed, decompressing, shaking it out as he /fully/ relaxed back into the bed. “I did not have the interest. Or the time.”

Damen had come into his life just a few years after he’d gotten too old to be in his Uncle’s sights. In the time between, Laurent had gone to many a brothel, yes, had led on many a suitor for his gain, but outside of Damen, Laurent truly had no sexual interest in.../anyone/.

“My ’experiments,’ as you call them, are using those weak-minded enough to think of me in such a way to my advantage.”

Like with Fynn.

Certainly that was all it was.

“Look how close I am to taking Akielos.”

* * *

Damen couldn’t help but laugh himself when Laurent of Vere was reduced to a giggling mess in the sheets. He half expected the guards to come in looking in after them, because Damen didn’t think he’d ever heard Laurent laugh so much at once, so loudly and so freely. It was such a joyful sound, and Damen didn’t ever want it to stop, but he knew he might very well be slapped if he let it go on for too long.

The cold stare wasn’t enough to wipe the smile from Damen’s face. He knew he had asked the right question eventually.

“That is not an answer,” Damen returned, resting a hand on Laurent’s navel. He seldom touched there, but he liked the way it felt. Laurent’s skin was as soft there as it was on the inside of his thighs.

“You are trying to put me off course, and I will not have it.” He smiled, moving to prop himself on his arm again. “The way you charmed Torvald, the way you had all of the men in the inn drooling after you—your looks can certainly do that on their own, but you are exceptional at flirting.”

His hands wandered down to Laurent’s thighs, but he wasn’t about to try for another round. Damen was spent.

“Those brothels—did they teach you? How far did your experiments take you?"

* * *

“I used the brothels to gather the gossip of the kingdom,” Laurent told Damen then, just before adding, “and to quiet the council about my sexual exploits.” Vere ran on indulgences, and Laurent had taken to so few in the years as the only heir to the throne. Visiting the brothels became a fun game to him, getting close with the ladies, paying them for conversation and for whatever dirt they’d garnered from their patrons.

Laurent had learned a lot there, regarding those from Govart to his Uncle. He even learned much about pets there, about what they said when their masters weren’t around.

He’d learned a lot about his country from what was regarded the base of its people.

“And they taught me how to properly accessorise a dress.”

Laurent smiled, proud of himself in that, his eyes tracking down his body to Damen’s wandering hands. He wasn’t going for anything in particular, it seemed. Just touching.

Laurent liked it.

“The only fucking we spoke of was of various noblemen’s cock sizes and their inability to bring pleasure to their wives and pets. From time to time, I would even dress as one of them and sit in the harem.”

Another character of Laurent’s - something that took him away from the palace, from his losses, from his uncle.

“I learned from the best,” Laurent concluded fondly, a smile on his lips.

* * *

Damen could imagine it well. Laurent could wear a dress better than most women, though it would be harder and harder for him to fit in with whores with how well his shoulders were developing. Back when Damen had first met him though…yes, he could see it. He /had/ seen it, twice now. Laurent was the greatest king Vere would ever have, if only because he did things others didn’t. Or wouldn’t.

“And what would you and your harem say about me?” Damend asked, smirking. “I am sure if you returned there now, they would want plenty of answers from you.”

He often forgot how little the rest of the kingdom knew about them. The personal life of a king was a very private one, but for them it was especially so. They had no family that would be free to speak about them, no royal friendships that permitted fond stories of two kings in love.

Perhaps that was a mistake.

Damen’s hand wandered back up over Laurent’s hip and stomach, then to his chest—another place he seldom touched. He just enjoyed Laurent’s hips and ass too much, he supposed.

* * *

Oh, Laurent could practically hear the girls now. He wished he would have taken Damen there, before all of this. If anyone deserved to know anything about his sexual endeavours, it was the women in the brothel. Perhaps on their trip back to Ios together, they could stop by and make a few beautiful women’s day.

“They would first ask about your proportions,” Laurent told Damen, closing his eyes now and just enjoying Damen’s hand on him. He was getting explorative about it, touching places on Laurent’s body that he usually didn’t. His fingers ghosted past the one scar Laurent had - the pink, shining flesh of his healed stab wound Govart had been so kind to leave him with.

“They would want to know if your overall size matched the size of your cock.”

It did. But Laurent would not be the one to tell him that again, inflate his ego past what was necessary now.

“And then they would ask if you are a giving lover.” Damen was. “And then a full retelling of our coupling would be requested in great detail with /many/ interruptions.”

There would be no boundaries there - no limits. Damen would die from the scandal, Laurent was so certain.

* * *

Damen rather wanted to see Laurent boasting about him to the whores. He remembered being tricked into thinking Laurent didn’t visit brothels, and the insinuation that Damen would know his way around one better. As if he needed to visit a brothel for pleasure—a prince! He had his pick of women and men, whenever he chose.

He didn’t even think he would be bothered by Laurent telling of their coupling in detail—he actually wanted to hear how Laurent would describe it. Perhaps that would give him clues as to what Laurent liked best, and what he should do more of.

“They may fight to have me,” Damen chuckled. He moved his hand to Laurent’s collarbone, tracing his thumb along it, then up the hollow of his throat. He should have marked it more, the colors had faded even more in the baths.

He hummed softly. “It might be wise to have such favor with those women. Especially with what tomorrow will bring.”

No, he hadn’t forgotten.

* * *

Laurent never should have closed his eyes.

He hummed in acknowledgement as Damen spoke, much more focused on the feeling his lover’s fingers at his throat, Damen’s rough fingertips moving around so gently. He focused most of his energy there, feeling the little buzz under Damen’s fingertips, luxuriating in the feeling while everything else went quiet, dark, his focus fading—

And then he nearly jumped when Damen spoke again.

Had he fallen asleep for a moment there?

If he had, what Damen said - once it processed - woke him right back up, something like confusion taking his whole expression.

“You would have their favour,” Laurent told Damen without a doubt, his brow still furrowed as he looked Damen over with that one. “But certainly you would not desire their favour over mine.”

Was Damen implying sneaking off to a brothel during this little game of theirs - the game they had very much decided not to talk about tonight.

Perhaps that had only been Laurent’s understanding.

“Should you desire someone, you do know where my bed is.”

Damen was terrible at escaping, but perhaps if fucking was on the other end of sneaking about, he would excel at it.

* * *

Damen didn’t understand Laurent’s look of confusion. Having the whores of Vere singing praises of Damianos all throughout the city would surely get him into the good graces of the Veretian people. A good lover was worth ten good men here. Veretians only seemed to listen when things were salacious, so why was—

Oh. Laurent thought he was going to sneak off to brothels to bed women while he wandered about with Fynn.

Damen laughed when he realized how his words must have sounded. He leaned over to kiss Laurent’s cheek, very much looking forward to stealing into his chambers some night, if only to remind him what he was missing.

“I just told you I don’t desire women anymore,” he chuckled. “What I meant was that it would be good to have them gossiping about me so that Veretians would listen. I do not mean to /bed/ any of them.”

* * *

Laurent tried not to look so relieved when Damen clarified his intentions.

“Well, they already gossip about you,” Laurent did finally speak up again, more confident this time. “But I am sure I can find the time to pay them a visit, place a few more opinions and stories in their head.”

Laurent would overshare for Damen’s benefit, in the true Veretian way. He would leave what details out were special for him - moments he wanted to keep between them - but he had enough to unload that would surely start the chatter.

More chatter then would already be started, he presumed....

Vere would soon have a /busy/ few weeks.

“But I know already that nobody doubts you in the bedroom,” Laurent did offer. “In fact, your ability to pleasure me so well as to keep you around and even marry you is still praised over the kingdom. Both as a great feat and great mystery. I have heard many question whether or not the Akielons have some special equipment in the bedroom, or if you’ve been imbued with some godlike power yourself.”

There. Damen’s ego could have that.

* * *

Damen hadn’t intended on getting his ego stroked, but he blushed when Laurent spoke about him so freely, so positively. Laurent could still be so cold to other people that it was hard to remember he was the same king who loved to cuddle up to him on cold days and sought his company on difficult days.

And tomorrow they would have to be separated under the same roof.

“They might be impressed, but not me. You could have any lover you chose, and I do not think you chose me simply because I am good in bed. Though I would hate to see what you thought of me if I had turned out to be bad in bed."

He ran his hand down Laurent’s body once more, settling at his navel again. He had no idea how Laurent’s skin always remained so smooth and soft.

“If I were to sneak into your bedchamber, what would be the best way?” Damen asked. “I am asking for a friend, of course."

* * *

“For a /friend/?” Laurent asked with jested surprise, laughing then, bright and clear. His hand found Damen’s at his navel and he grasped it, thumbing fondly at Damen’s knuckles. “And you’re allowing this friend to /live/ with such intentions?” Damen was a jealous man - which Laurent would be lying if he said he did not enjoy.

“Well,” Laurent reasoned. “I suggest your friend warn my head of guard, and then, perhaps, he can gain access to my apartment’s window.” Laurent pointed to a window currently out of view over in the area by his couch, his books. “It is a dangerous climb, but such is the point of a royal’s tower.”

Laurent did not have a balcony as the other apartments about the castle did - as the king’s room would have. His rooms were in the highest tower of Arles, and he hardly needed a balcony with as cold as the wind blew there.

“The alternative would be to win over my guards, bribe them into letting you enter, and then letting your friend have his way with me.” Laurent smirked at that, looking up to Damen knowingly.

“But he should know as well that this is not the /sole/ place to do just that.”

* * *

Damen laughed, relishing in the fact that he got to have this with Laurent. He got to tease and joke with him, all wrapped up in their desire for each other, their love. It was so much more than any relationship Damen had ever had, yet was missing so many of the theings he had thought made relationships strong. Sneaking around was one of them—as a prince and a king, he had figured his truest love would be someone he had to sneak with. He supposed they did that in their own way, but nothing like what he had expected.

“As you might imagine, he courts danger quite often, I am sure a climb to the window would be no great feat.” In reality, Damen feared the cold and wind more than any climb.

His brows lifted at the suggestion that the bedchamber was not the only place they could steal away too. Damen couldn’t wait to have a bit of excitement in the palace again—to wait for the perfect moment to see Laurent, as he had in the beginning. Except that had been very different.

“And where should I tell him would be best to find you in such a mood to be taken?” he asked. “Do you have a place where you stash your trysts?"

* * *

If Damen’s ‘friend’ were anything like Damen, Laurent did not doubt he often courted great trouble. Like, once again, grabbing the prince of Vere in the baths while posed as a slave. Within his first few days of being there.

It sounded like Damen hung out with a very dangerous crowd...

“There’s the gardens, obviously,” Laurent began to list with a little smile, as he was very much enjoying this. “And then there’s the study, the library, the baths, the stables, the hot springs....I can be found all manner of places.” And something told him, for courting, he would be out and about, away from his room more frequently than he had been in it recently.

“Wherever he sees fit to see me, I will be there to...attend him.”

* * *

“The study, library, baths—the stables? Laurent, I would never expect it of you.” Especially in winter, where they would sooner freeze, even with the warmth of the horses. But if that was the only place he could find him, Damen would not hesitate. Stealing away for private moments was going to become much more difficult.

Damen smiled, finally leaning over to capture Laurent’s lips in a kiss. He lingered there, kissing lovingly, his hand curling around his beloved’s once more. It would be very hard for Damen to do this. They hadn’t spent a night apart under the same roof since going after Kastor.

When he broke the kiss, he let out a little hum.

“I think it is time we slept. My body may well sleep until the sun sets tomorrow if I let it,” Damen murmured, nosing fondly against Laurent.

“You will be happy to know my piercings don’t hurt very much,” he said. “I can hardly feel them."

* * *

The kiss didn’t feel final, and perhaps that was why Laurent did not mind the offer to go to sleep. He would have stayed up all night had it been asked of him, but if Damen thought they should sleep, then Laurent would sleep as well. Now that they had the ‘plan’ to find each other throughout this little trial, Laurent did not feel the walls closing in around him so.

But Laurent could not help but laugh at Damen’s mention of his piercings, and without exclusively touching them, Laurent ran his fingers just under Damen’s nipples, admiring his work once more.

“For once /I/ will have handiwork to show off to the kingdom,” he smiled, thinking back to all the times he had shown up to court with the marks Damen decorated his body with. Damen’s skin tone did not lend to the bruising that Laurent’s fine skin did, but these piercings sure did stand out against it.

He pressed another kiss to Damen’s lips before moving comfortably against him, settling in for the evening.

“‘Til morning,” he murmured, this time pressing a kiss to Damen’s chest. “I love you.”

* * *

Damen pulled the blankets over them, then rested his arm protectively around Laurent. It didn’t take long for him to sleep, happy and warm and clean even as a storm raged outside. Winter was digging her fangs into Arles, and Damen wondered how it would be when this was over and it was time to go home to Ios.

Morning came with no celebration. It was still dark in the bedchamber with how the clouds hung low and creeping, the snow whipping against the stone. The waking disturbance was servants bringing in their clothes for court, and Damen let out a groan. Today they would have to hear about the competition and decide a winner.

They would also have to see Fynn.

“Good morning,” Damen grunted, curling tighter around Laurent. He did not want to leave bed. “Mm. My jaw hurts as much as I thought it would."

* * *

Laurent woke with Damen, just his stirring bringing Laurent to full consciousness after the arrival of his clothing for the day pulled him out of any lull of sleep that may have been left in him. He felt as if he had been awake through most of the night, having slept lightly for a number of reasons.

“/Your/ jaw?” Laurent asked hoarsely, lifting his head from the pillow just long enough to spy the clothing he’d been brought. Event clothing that he would be stuck in from the early hours of the morning straight into the festivities this evening. He would not be out of them until he returned to his room for the evening...

Alone...

Without Damianos...

Laurent let his head fall back to the pillow with a soft groan.

He could honestly say he was not looking forward to this game, even though it was one of his own design. But the idea of uniting /three/ kingdoms and also elevating Damen’s status to those Veretians who may still doubt him? Laurent had decided it was worth a little while of discomfort. As long as he and Damen knew the intentions, it would be a smooth run.

“Perhaps a few nights away from you will be well-served for my health,” Laurent joked dryly, bringing up his hand not trapped between himself and Damen to rub at his own jaw.

* * *

“Perhaps,” Damen smirked, finding Laurent’s lips for a kiss. He deepened it, moving over Laurent to kiss him properly. He tasted like sleep, and still smelled of that Veretian perfume Damen continued to like more and more. His tongue slipped past Laurent’s lips, glad that they would be able to share one more morning of closeness.

But they did have an event to attend, and being late this time would not serve them well.

He stoled one last kiss to Laurent’s beautiful neck (he simply had to) and reluctantly rose from bed to dress. His chiton was embroidered with red and gold lions, his boots cleaned and cared for since he had abused them on their trip. His cloak had also been mended and cleaned, and Damen thought he looked very nice in his attire for the day. Hopefully nice enough to intimidate Fynn into leaving.

Once he was ready, he moved over by the fire to keep himself warm.

“Where will I be staying?” he asked, watching the flames with mild interest. “A warmer room, I hope?"

* * *

Rising from the bed was not as easy as waking had been, but once Damen was absent from his side, Laurent supposed he found reason to finally move out from under the sheets and towards his laid out clothing.

Damen had fully dressed well before Laurent had. Laurent was back into proper Veretian clothing, including a superfluous, embroidered cape, gold thread shining in the intricate pattern that adorned the lining. It had been a while since they’d had a proper event, he supposed, especially since - technically - Damen’s arrival had been a surprise.

“You will be in the courtier’s suite,” Laurent informed Damen, focused now on what he could of his own lacing. It was not long until he was standing in front of Damen, expecting help.

“It it similar to my apartments, but—“ Laurent thought it over as he worked closed the lacings on his wrist. “I suppose you will be sharing them with Fynn. Not the same room, of course, but the hall.”

Laurent imagined /that/ was something he should look into changing. That would undoubtedly end in a war as it was.

“It will be warmer,” Laurent did offer, as if that might help. “More central in the palace. No tower.”

* * *

Damen came to Laurent and began to help as soon as it was time. He wondered who would be helping Laurent do this in the days to come, and desperately hoped it would not be Fynn. Being in a courtier’s suite seemed to be an annoyance enough, because it was far from Laurent’s apartments, where Damen knew the palace best.

“Sharing with Fynn?” Damen balked. He would easily be able to tell when the Kemptian was gone, and there were only so many places he would be going /alone/ in the near future. “Do you intend to drive me mad?”

Warmth meant nothing when he had to think about Fynn and Laurent sneaking around together, or worse—parading around together. He would wring Fynn’s neck if he so much as looked at Laurent in a way that suggested he would like to take his clothes off.

“Speaking of that swine—what will be the extent of your interactions with him?” Damen said, lacing Laurent’s back perhaps a bit too tightly. A bit of discomfort would keep him from doing anything foolish. “I seem to remember you telling me in Marlas that if it came to it, you would share kisses with a suitor. Should I expect that?”

He didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself from slugging a Kemptian Duke if they dared to do it in front of him.

* * *

Laurent huffed out a breath when Damen pulled his laces tight enough to correct posture he already believed to be quite perfect. He shot a glare back at Damen out of habit alone, but any annoyance faded pretty quickly. Laurent could assume its was an accident.

“Kissing hardly means anything in this context,” Laurent reminded Damen, smoothing down there front of his jacket. “It is not in my plans to kiss Fynn. I feel he will not need the same sort of persuasion that Torvald did.” Kissing would certainly be more of an ‘end of courting’ thing. And even then, the whole plan was to not get that far.

He also could not see himself kissing /Fynn/. He had known him for so long, they had been /childhood/ friends. Yes, Fynn was /very/ attractive, but he was not Damen. Laurent could not conceive a moment in which he would /need/ or /want/ to kiss Fynn.

“It will not be something you need to worry about,” Laurent reasoned. “It will not come to that, unless it is a kiss farewell.”

* * *

“It means something to me,” Damen growled. He could not imagine what he would feel if he watched Laurent kiss Fynn of Kempt. He didn’t think he would be able to stop himself from attacking Fynn for the action, and to know someone else knew the taste of Laurent’s lips when he was supposed to be wed to the king of Akielos? No.

Even a kiss farewell was a kiss to many. “I hope you mean a kiss farewell when you send him packing,” Damen muttered. “Else he may try to steal one every night.”

Damen wondered if he would be able to have a kiss each night, or if he would truly be stuck as a courting king and not have a chance to see Laurent beyond court and meals.

He finished the lacing on Laurent’s jacket, then quickly did up his pants and stooped to start on his boots. Once those were finished, he stood and smoothed his fingers over Laurent’s fine hair.

“I will not miss tying those laces,” Damen said with a smile, though he very much would. “Is it time?"

* * *

Laurent should have well predicted Damen would be like this. He still was not as cutthroat when it came to mischief as a Veretian would be - as Laurent was - but Laurent wished he would understand this was all just a game - a /plot/ to strengthen Vere /and/ Akielos!

One day, he would understand.

“I am sure Lucien will enjoy the task in your stead,” Laurent said by way of telling Damen just who would be taking over as his right hand while Damen was away. Perhaps it would ease his mind.

Fully dressed, they could put it off no longer.

Laurent crossed the room and presented Damen’s crown to him, placing it atop his head fondly, fluffing his curls around the laurels. He was so handsome...

“Remember who my heart belongs to, Damianos,” Laurent murmured, and while he still could, he took Damen’s hand in his own, gave it a squeeze. “Do not doubt it or me.”

* * *

Damen dipped his head to allow the laurels to be placed on his head, laughing when Laurent fluffed his hair like he was a fine horse about to go on parade. He gazed down at their hands linked together and smiled, bringing Laurent’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles as he so often did.

“Don’t give my head reason to lead me down the wrong path,” Damen replied. He kissed Laurent’s forehead, then curled a finger under his chin to tip his head up for a proper kiss.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Please don’t forget.”

He kept ahold of Laurent’s hand once Laurent’s crown was placed, and didn’t intend to let it go until Laurent pulled himself away. No one knew Fynn’s reason for being here—and even if they did, it wasn’t official until it was announced.

Damen couldn’t help but kiss his temple once they were outside the doors to the great hall.

“We will get through this. It won’t last as long as it will feel."

* * *

“It is just a game,” Laurent murmured to Damen, squeezing his hand reassuringly before turning to face him properly. Laurent straightened his chiton, turned the lion head pin on his shoulder so that is was straight, and gave him one last little brush over - mindful of his chest - before giving Damen a nod. “So you are expected to play with me.”

It was the last bit Laurent got out before they were ushered into the great hall and, oh, were there /many/ people awaiting them, both Akielon and Veretian - and Kemptian - alike.

It was an overwhelming crowd, but it easily parted as Damen and Laurent crossed through the hall, still hand in hand. All the crowd, and Laurent noticed, in passing, a strange group of women, all dressed in /fine/ silks, their hair done up in the Akielon style, but they were all clearly Veretian. They curtsied as they passed. Laurent was sure he’d get an answer on that sooner or later.

An attendant stepped up - one from Mathe’s camp - and led them through the hall and towards the indoor pit - an event space that was not only reserved for wrestling in the Veretian style. The floor had been brushed over, covered in a large swath of fabric to create a presenting floor.

“Why are we not in the court?” Laurent asked the attendant as they strode to their thrones.

“Too many people, Your Majesty,” the attendant responded. “Master Mathe requested room for presentations, audience, and gifts.”

Of course he had.

Laurent and Damen took their seats at the same time, and as they did, all the others in the stands sat as well. All of the councillors sat along the barrier of the ‘stage,’ their pets and slaves at their feet. In the crowd, Akielon and Veretian men mixed and mingled in every way Laurent had hoped they would since this union had come into his thoughts.

He hoped not to ruin it now.

* * *

Damen had not expected Kemptians to be in attendance. Perhaps that was foolish of him to think that Fynn would travel alone, but seeing that a new kingdom was present for their competition announcement made him less than comfortable. He had envisioned this to be the joining of Vere and Akielos, not including Kempt at all.

He noticed the women, the way their eyes lingered on him for just a moment too long before averting as they curtsied. Damen’s instinctual reaction was to be upset, thinking that this was somehow going to be an insult to Akielos, as the women were clearly Veretian.

As they were led to the pit, Damen looked for Fynn. He had to be nearby, and it was honestly surprising he hadn’t burst from the crowd to profess his love for Laurent or something equally foolish.

He eyed the court as they approached, nodding to the Akielons who presided, who each nodded back in turn. He hoped the Veretians had listened, that this competition wasn’t going to be a waste of valuable time they could have ben using to…

Well, Damen wouldn’t have changed how he spent his time.

“I take it this means Mathe will present first?” Damen asked, looking over the crowd from where he now sat at the throne. “Do wake me when he is finished."

* * *

“Mathe believes he has the victory in this,” Laurent murmured, watching as his council prepared themselves for this. “He will demand to go last.”

Vannes looked quite comfortable, quite confident, her hand twirling in her pet’s hair idly. Mathe looked...irked, if anything. Laurent imagined it was because Fynn had not been the /surprise/ he wanted him to be - not fully. Laurent liked him Mathe in turmoil. Even Cylan was there, sitting upon his cushioned seat, his own physician at his side where a pet would otherwise be - where Lucien would be.

Laurent smiled at that, too.

The Kemptian attendance did not bother Laurent, as it was merely enough to have been Fynn’s travel party. Seven or eight of them in total sat in the stands, all together near the top on Laurent’s side.

He supposed they didn’t count as /his/ guests. Laurnet could never forget he was as much of Kempt as he was of Vere.

“The competition shall commence,” the herald announced from the stage after a bidding to go forth from Laurent. A simple wave of the hand not still held in Damen’s.

“Of the Veretians: Lady Vannes!”

Laurent did enjoy this competition being begun by a woman - the /only/ woman of council on either side. He also enjoyed Lady Vannes’ way of commanding a room, the way she presented, addressed. She was a crafty woman, with an idea of giving rights to pets, which was an interesting stand for her to take.

Akielons, for now, had slaves, and Veretians had pets. Vannes put forth the idea of a program - that she would obviously lead - giving the slaves the right to be trained and /paid/ as pets were. She wanted to give the slaves status, wanted to give them rights. She wanted to do away with slavery - as King Damianos intended - but create a new class system to work them into.

She also wanted to oversee the pets monthly, to gather them all, to make an enterprise of them, to make sure they were /all/ being treated fairly and kind.

It was a compelling presentation.

Laurent looked over to Damen as Vannes stepped off the podium, his face flat, but with an expression soft enough that only Damen could see that Laurent /liked/ the idea.

* * *

Damen watched Lady Vannes presentation with interest, though his eyes kept drifting to his council, where it was immediately apparent who she had spoken to. the representatives from many provinces in Akielos were grinning, clearly happy with the proposal. And it was a good plan, Damen agreed, but she was at a great disadvantage in going first.

That, and he was unsure about pets being rounded up monthly. It sounded like a way for a loophole to be created, and for a successor to Lady Vannes to twist it into something not about welfare. But it was a start.

He looked over at Laurent, marveling for just a moment how they could speak to each other just through glances. Laurent clearly liked the idea and Damen offered a small nod in return. It was a good proposal.

“And next,” the herald announced. “Master Juerre.”

Damen watched a Juerre stood, oddly upbeat and perhaps friendly looking. He seemed to be easily swayed, but Damen had no real cause to dislike him other than the obvious.

“Your Majesties.” Juerre began, bowing low. Too low for a Veretian, but not low enough for an Akielon. A compromise. “For my part, I decided to introduce to both Akielos and Vere a relationship unprecedented, reigniting trade in Kempt, where both kingdoms have lacked trade since the great war.”

Damen’s eyes narrowed, and his grip on the armrest of his throne tightened.

“In fact, as I know you noticed last night, I have invited the Fynn, Herzog of Kempt, who has agreed to begin talks to resume trade in the ports of Vere and Akielos!”

Fynn emerged from where he had been hidden behind Juerre’s seat, all perfect smiles and a dashingly handsome black velvet jacket and cape. His hat carried an enormous feather that looked expensive even to Damen’s untrained eye.

“That is not all,” Fynn announced over the crowd’s excited murmuring. The crowd quickly quieted to better hear his accent that Damen still could not understand well. “As I am sure you are all well aware, I frequented Vere in my youth, and Prince Auguste was my closest friend for many years. I know King Laurent better than any other of Kempt.”

His gaze turned to Laurent, and Damen had to fight from scowling.

“Just before the battle in which Auguste left us, I was sent a letter. Auguste asked that I court Laurent, asked that I take his hand in marriage—of course, when he became king I did not think this was an option, but when I learned that he was intending to wed Damianos and then that he was back in Arles, I knew I had to fulfill my promise to Auguste."

The crowd started to surge with whispers, and Juerre’s face had gone white.

“So, Laurent,” Fynn said, bowing respectfully. “In addition to Juerre’s offer, I present myself to you, so that I may court you publicly, to properly unite Kempt and Vere as our kingdoms once were. I ask you to accept my courtship—will you?”

Everything went still, and Damen prepared for Laurent to take his hand away and begin this “game."

* * *

Laurent was still relaxed when Jeurre spoke, having expected him to bumble through this and offer up something without real merit or stakes. Laurent had merely been thumbing at the back of Damen's hand when Jeurre began—

And he froze when he heard what Jeurre was actually proposing.

Laurent’s eyes went to Mathe, having fully expected /him/ to have been the one to try something this foolish, but as Laurent watched Jeurre, he began to realise that that was not even /Jeurre’s/ plan.

Than that meant—

The people didn’t know. His court didn’t know. Vere didn’t know.

Laurent looked like he might speak, like he might dismiss Jeurre quickly away, but it was too late. Fynn has already caught the eyes of the court, both Veretian and Akielon, professing his intentions - not only his, but /Auguste’s/.

He’d not realised they didn’t /know/.

And Jeurre had gone absolutely white, meaning he truly had no intentions of doing this.

All eyes were on Laurent and Damen, waiting.

Laurent cleared his throat, tilted his chin up just so.

“Herzog of Kempt,” Laurent addressed him, “You have agreed to come here with invitation from Councillor Jeurre, but it seems you have taken it upon yourself to commandeer my court for your offer.” Laurent raised his brow. “And you do this understanding that I have intentions to wed the king of Akielos in the coming months.”

“Your Majesty,” Jeurre interrupted, wide-eyed. “I am sure the letter—“

“Fynn,” Laurent said, softer this time. “I would do Akielos a disservice to take this offer, but in denying it, I would do Vere, Kempt, and my own brother disservices.” Laurent looked over to Damen, silently sending a message. A message that this would all be okay.

“So I propose a second competition to this one.” Laurent would appeal to all the barbarians in his court now. “I will allow you to court me, for my Kemptian heritage, the future of Vere, and for my brother.” There was quiet chaos in the stands as Laurent went on. “I’ve my own wedding to attend in just a few months. If in that time, you can convince myself and my council that Kempt is better for Vere than a union with Akielos, then I shall deem Kempt the victor. If not, Akielos remains victorious. I ask that those of Kempt and Akielos remain civil, and understand that the man who wins did so ethically and fairly. I ask —“

He turned to Damen and, in a moment that truly shocked the whole court, Laurent stepped down from his thrown and went to his knee before Damen. Council members rose from their seats, people of Vere audibly gasped.

“I ask Akielos for the support and for the right to follow through with this proposal.”

Laurent knew how to put on a show.

* * *

Damen hadn’t caught on to things as Laurent did. He learned when the crowd did that Fynn had orchestrated this himself, that Jeurre had no idea that Fynn had intended to court the king. He slackjawed as the crowd did, unable to hide his surprise, then fury. Fynn had done this himself! He had come all the way from Kempt and had hidden his intentions from the council, and now he was forcing Laurent to answer in front of two—three kingdoms.

Damen finally shut his mouth, then looked at Laurent, trying to remain calm. He could see Laurent trying to reassure him, but he could feel the anger rising in his own people. They despised this as much as he did, and also recognized it wasn’t fair.

That is, until Laurent turned. Damen sat up straighter, thinking Laurent might flee the room or something equally ridiculous. Instead, the unthinkable happened, and Laurent was suddenly before him on one knee.

All Damen could think about was the night before, when Laurent’s head had been at a similar height doing something much, much different.

But it did not take long for him to regain his composure.

“I am more than confident in our union, but even without that, I would be happy to show this assembly that I am more than capable of winning your hand, even with direct competition.” He smirked, looking over Laurent to Fynn as he continued, “You have my support, and my blessing.”

The crowd erupted.

* * *

Damen might just be craftier than Laurent have him credit for. The delivery was flawless, his wording inciting enough to have the support of the majority with only one statement. Laurent could only be impressed, and his little smile up to Damen showed it.

He adored this man.

“Then it is settled,” Laurent announced as he moved back to his throne. His hand instinctively went to Damen’s before he added, “The courting may commence this evening after the competition. I’ll not have it distract any more than it already has.”

Laurent gestured for Fynn to return to his seat. He could not help but feel a little cheated by the way this had been addressed, but he could not let himself be /angry/ at Fynn. He was still a close friend of Laurent’s - close enough that Laurent almost felt bad for just dismissing the offer so stoically, but...it’s how Laurent ruled. It was how he played his game.

Mathe brought the final policy, unwilling to back down when it was very clear /enough/ had been done here today.

“I do hope this display does not nullify my offer,” Mathe announced in jest, leading to quite a bit good-humoured laughter from the crowd. “But, should our expected future with Akielos continue, I offer up a new policy.”

Behind Mathe stood the line of beautiful blonde Veretian women, all dressed in fine Akielon clothing, their heads bowed, their hands before them, clasped.

“We here in Vere have damned the title of bastard for too long, when it could be a bastard that might very well save our kingdom.”

Laurent cocked his head, amused by and already aware of where Mathe would take this. He wondered if the man even thought this would be considered a winner, or if he nearly wanted the platform to make a point.

“With two kings, a legitimate heir to Vere would be impossible.” That was true. “And up-keeping our prejudices will only damn us. I offer these women, who I have taken this time to solidify as the best choices to bear heir to Vere and Akielos.”

As if the court did not have enough to talk about.

“I would almost think you were hiding something from us, councillor,” Laurent joked - /joked/ - and the laughter at Mathe’s expense was welcome as it broke the tension his presentation had brought about. Laurent could not even take Mathe’s offer seriously, though he knew others had already begun to.

“You have given us much to think about,” Laurent announced, sitting back more comfortably in his throne, his eyes on Damen, trying to see how that hit him. It did not matter. It was superfluous right now - something that would be solved through them on their own time.

* * *

Damen hadn’t thought his reply to be anything special, but Laurent seemed to, so he smiled encouragingly. He was especially thankful when Laurent took his hand again, and he already knew he was going to win the competition and keep Laurent as his husband, so he was less concerned. Seing the Akielons smirk with the knowledge that Damianos would certainly win, and they had no knowledge that Damen already had victory.

He sat back, thumbing the side of Laurent’s palm as Mathe stood up and started giving his presentation. the women were suddenly lined up before them, and Damen half expected a dance of some kind, but instead it was Mathe droning on.

About heirs.

Damen tried not to look uncomfortable, but he very much was. This was a topic Laurent always dismissed or passed over, insistent that there would be no heir. Damen did not agree. There needed to be one, or the kingdoms would fall to ruin in a generation. He wouldn’t stand for it.

And now the kingdom was going to be talking about it before they were even wed.

He avoided Laurent’s gaze, rubbing his lip with his knuckle, thinking.

“Shall we retire to discuss?” Damen asked, staring off into space now. “Or do we have to entertain this for a few more hours before we can retreat and pick a winner?"

* * *

“Well,” Laurent began easily at the very mention of a winner. “I believe the decision of the victor is quite clear, is it not?” Laurent gestured to his court, but his eyes remained on Damen, silently asking him to play along. When he had held Damen’s gaze long enough, he turned to face the presenters.

Mathe had no intention of winning this - that had been made clear by his disinterest in what Laurent was saying now. He was too caught up twisting a young man’s hair around his finger, whispering something to him in between Laurent speaking.

Jeurre looked absolutely ill - pale and sallow, shaking just so. Laurent was a fearsome King to those who conspired and did him great injustice. Juerre clearly feared himself to be seen as treacherous or snake-like, and certainly sitting next to Cylan had not helped his line of thinking. He did not expect to win, not after what had just occurred.

Lady Vannes seemed overtly confident with her proposal, seeing as it was something she knew both kings were interested in. She had also, of course, been the one to recently help the both of them with tonics and escape plans. She was confident where she sat.

She’d made a fantastic point.

“Councillor Jeurre,” Laurent announced with no fanfare, startling really only the man himself at first. “Your proposal, with the current circumstances, is the only that holds up with this...surprise turn of events regarding the Herzog of Kempt.”

It was starting to click.

Mathe seem impressed.

Vannes was /irate/.

“Where I admire Lady Vannes’ proposal -“ Laurent did not mention Mathe at all. “-Both her and Councillor Mathe’s are no longer relevant with this newfound competition of ours. Seeing as Councillor Jeurre’s offer to expand trade of both Akielos and Vere with Kempt is the proposal that has withstood this upset, by technicality, he is our victor tonight.”

Jeurre looked as if he might faint.


	5. Part I: A Gift Horse (7.6.20)

Damen at least wanted to pretend Fynn wasn’t going to win. Fynn, who was sitting at the sidelines beaming at Laurent like a lovestruck idiot. All because he had been offered a /chance/. So no, Damen did not want to continue entertaining his ego, but he said nothing and tried to keep himslf stoic as Laurent continued. He felt particularly bad for Lady Vannes, because her proposal would have won had Jeurre not forced their hand.

He sat and listened as Laurent announced the winner, watching with contempt as Fynn’s face lit up once more. It was clear to Damen that he wanted to steal Laurent away as fast as possible, to woo him properly and see what all he could do to gain ground.

“We look forward to your festivities,” Damen said, putting on a smile. The crowd was talking feverishly, moving around all at once as gossip began spreading like wildfire. Even the Akielons looked like they were enjoying the speculation.

“What now?” Damen asked, leaning back in his throne. “Mingle with them until Fynn steals you away?"

* * *

“We have no responsibility to mingle until the party this evening,” Laurent assured Damen, not at all surreptitiously. It was not as if anyone was listening to them now. Congratulations were being given across the room, and those who had already done that were whispering amongst themselves.

Laurent let his gaze momentarily go to Fynn, that mastermind, and where Laurent did not return his smitten gaze, Laurent did offer him a smile. It was not flirtatious yet, and it was barely even purposeful! Fynn’s smile was not dimpled like Damen’s, but it was familiar. It was a smile Laurent had many memories with. It was contagious.

He turned back to Damen as people began to mill about. The doors were opened and the crowd from outside moved in as others moved out, asking for the news of what had happened. Laurent was not certain Vere would ever be quiet again.

“Is there anything else I should be pursuing in relations with Kempt?” Laurent asked, thumbing at Damen’s hand, looking fondly at his king. Damen had presented himself so well, had played into the game like a true Veretian. Laurent was still so impressed. “Perhaps they have a long-held relief for aching jaws.”

* * *

Laurent’s eyes were so fond, and Damen couldn’t help but smile back. To see Laurent happy and excited about anything involving Vere was a good thing in Damen’s eyes. He had worked hard to bring his kingdom to some kind of order and this ceremony had gone over in such a way that Laurent was getting plenty of praise for joking and acting as a true king should.

“Finding a fast horse to take him away from here,” Damen returned with a little smile. He brought Laurent’s hand to his lips and kissed his knuckles, taking in the moment with him.

“And yes, I imagine their cure is not using the jaw at all,” Damen muttered. “They cover every part of themselves except their face and hands. I think he would sooner die than remove a sleeve.”

Damen leaned his head back and let out a sigh. “How long do you wager we have until he comes to find you?"

* * *

“People used to say the very same about me,” Laurent reminded Damen with a smirk, as it was not so difficult to recall his days as the cast iron, untouchable prince of Vere. He held no merit in the joke, but he did let Damen have his moment.

“I think he will wait until the evening festivities,” Laurent told Damen without much thought to it. It just made sense to him. “He will undoubtedly take the time to apologise to Jeurre for the surprise, and now that his four to jog is official, I am sure he will meet with his men about how to proceed, and then the party will be the time to make his move.”

There was no /throne/ in the rook where the celebration would be held. In their thrones, Laurent knew there would be no approach, both for the respect of Damen, and simply for years of tradition. In the hall where they held their festivities, they wild have no similar safe place.

“He is a diplomat, after all. He knows what to watch for, knows of the moments most opportune.”

* * *

Damen simmered at Laurent’s reply, wishing he had eyes on Fynn just to make sure he wasn’t trying to sneak over. Laurent didn’t walk into kingdoms asking for a king’s hand in marriage. A duke! Asking a king! He was lucky he had Auguste on his side, or Damen would have sooner started a war with Kempt than introduced trade, and he didn’t care what anyone said about it. No one was to come for Laurent.

He also hated that Laurent felt like he knew Fynn well enough to guess his plans. They hadn’t spoken for a decade, and yet Laurent was talking about him like they were at least well acquainted.

Damen let out a snort. “He may be called a diplomat, but you’ve no idea if he is any good.” Damen doubted he was. “I would hardly call this a diplomatic way to go about anything. Attempting to ruin a wedding and steal one king away from another.”

He didn’t trust Fynn at all, and he certainly didn’t trust him with Laurent, who could be blinded by his past.

“Promise me you will be careful,” Damen murmured. “I know you think he is the same man as before, but he may very well be different, Laurent. He may not have what is best for you in mind."

* * *

Laurent did not like Damen’s insinuation there /at all/. Yes, this was an unorthodox way to go about things, but Fynn had truly been one of Laurent’s closest friends growing up. Laurent had been through manipulation and being taken advantage of by those close to him. He knew how to realise when that was /not/ happening.

“Remain civil,” Laurent decided to land on, not wanting to argue it or create any tension between himself and Damen now. “His intentions are not what matter when we know the outcome of this.”

They didn’t need to complicate it, did not need to argue or strain their relationship anymore than this had threatened.

“Have I not done enough to relax you in these past few days?” Laurent asked Damen softly, a jesting purr in his tone.

* * *

Damen sighed, sensing Laurent’s disappointment. Fynn had quite a hold on him, and it would be dangerous if he had ill intent. He could also be delusional enough to think he was winning this competition, and be a sore loser at the end. Damen would not lose sight of teh fact that this stranger had come in with all sorts of bold claims.

“You have,” he agreed with a warm smile. “But it will only take one or two days of this—“ He almost said imbecile, but refrained. “—duke fawning over you before I will need to have what he cannot.” Even if that just meant stealing kisses in dark hallways.

He stood from his throne, causing the crowd to turn to look at him. Damen paid it no mind.

“Let us at least dine. I am starving."

* * *

“Have me as much as you want,” Laurent did manage to whisper, throwing a wink Damen’s way before rising to his feet. Out of habit, he took Damen’s hand immediately, meaning to hold it in the way to their meal, but...well, Laurent supposed he knew better now.

“I suppose you’ll never miss me if I continue to give you everything,” Laurent joked as he watched Damen rise, fully intending to follow him to where they would eat. He wasn’t sure what kind of mood Damen would be in, and in this ‘courting phase’ of theirs, he might as well give Damen a /little/ control.

Of he could at least make it look like Damen had not already won anymore than he had.

“Just so you are aware,” Laurent started as they headed down the hallway. “With your new....‘availability,’ the pets in this evening’s performances may see this is an opportunity to...get closer with you.” Laurent met Damen’s eyes.

“I would advise against it.”

* * *

Damen smiled when Laurent took his hand. The games had begun, but not quite yet. They were still the couple to be married, so handholding didn’t seem forward in his eyes. He knew he should take a step back and better play the part of a courting king, but he couldn’t right now, not with Laurent so close, with things feeling so normal.

He rolled his eyes at mention of the pets. “As if I have any desire for pets,” he muttered. “I was drugged enough for a herd of horses and I recall being told I still showed restraint until given permission to fuck that one pet—and even that I still regret.”

Damen cracked a smile. “My pet is Soren, and he is the only one I shall ever claim.”

The dining hall was already bursting with Akielons and Veretians alike, who all bowed low as their kings entered. The food had not yet been touched, waiting for their arrival. Damen was starved—he had not eaten breakfast and lunch was late by his timing.

“I was thinking…perhaps we take our plates elsewhere?” he asked, eyes roaming over the juicy meats and cooked vegetables. “Or we can eat among our people. So long as I am dining with you, Your Majesty, I cannot be disappointed."

* * *

They ate in private. Laurent saw no harm in it, and very much wanted the time alone with Damen while he could have it. Things were...as simple with Damen as Laurent thought his life could ever be - and that was with their past and all the implications of their being together. For just a little while longer, he wanted the quiet while he could get it.

Because it ended the moment the festivities began.

Laurent and Damen walked hand-in-hand for what they both understood would be the last time for a while, before stepping into the open hall. The music had already begun, echoing off the walls, the lights of the braziers dancing against the stone. Veretians and Akielons alike had already begun to claim cushions and pets for entertainment, and the wine was flowing freely. It was a structured sort of chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

That would be the end of the quiet, then.

“And who will you busy yourself with?” Laurent asked as they entered, the room surprisingly dim. He wondered what corner Damen might hide in - wondered where he could hide to protest Damen from his own jealousy.

* * *

Traveling to Jeurre’s residence was an unpleasant journey, but Damen appreciated that he got to travel with Laurent as a visiting king. They also got a ridiculously gilt sleigh to ride in to the event, covered and warmth. Damen didn’t even complain about the weather on the trip, and he was satisfied in the knowledge that this meant he would be leaving with Laurent as well.

He didn’t want to let go of Laurent as they entered the party, because they wouldn’t be able to walk like this again for some time. How long, he still wasn’t sure. Long enough.

“Do not worry about me,” Damen said with a squeeze of Laurent’s hand. “My men will keep me busy. I have not spoken to them since I returned, and I am sure they have many stories to tell.”

He plucked a chalice of wine from a nearby tray to sip on.

“I may be a jealous man, but I will respect the competition, Laurent,” he said around a drink. “Especially when I know I will be winning."

* * *

That was good enough for Laurent.

“Your Majesties!”

Laurent had just been about to let Damen go off to his men when Jeurre approached them both in something very much like a panic. His eyes were wide, his palms out in something like...surrender.

“Your majesties,” he started again, quickly, fear clear in his eyes. “I swear - I /swear/ - I knew /nothing/ of the Kemptian’s announcement. I merely— Your highness, you must believe me. I only remembered the boy from your childhood. I thought—“

Laurent had instilled this fear in his people, he knew. Jeurre was reacting like this because he /feared/ not only Damen, but his own young king.

Laurent did not mind it.

He honestly liked it.

“Councillor,” Laurent cut him off, “We are celebrating your attempts at the bettering of Vere this evening.” Laurent would not necessarily tell him he was not at fault, as he might need that leverage later, but he would at least somewhat ease the man’s mind. “We are here to meet your family and to bring honour to your household. We need not speak of the duke’s just now.”

But he did leave the door open for /later/. Again, he knew Jeurre was being honest...but this was fun.

“I would never disrespect you or the Akielon king in such a way...” Jeurre did try once more, turning his efforts to Damen. He did not want to suffer /that/ wrath either, after all.

* * *

Jeurre was nicer than Damen remembered him being. probably because he thought his life was on the line. Had Laurent not been there, he would have been less than cordial. But with Laurent at his side, he had to smile. Damen did feel for him though, he could no have imagined his guest would be lying about his intentions.

“I understand it was not your intention,” Damen offered, since Laurent wouldn’t. “Had you known, I am sure you would have put a stop to his arrival.”

“Absolutely,” Jeurre scoffed. “I would have—“

“But a competition will be of great importance to our kingdoms,” Damen continued, cutting him off. He looked to Laurent and smiled. “I will be able to win him over all over again.”

Jeurre looked incredibly uncomfortable talking about such affection, and his cheeks reddened. Damen could see he was still very panicked—and he had right to be if Damen somehow lost.

“I did have—the Herzog of Kempt has requested your presence outside, Your Majesty,” Jeurre said, swallowing hard. “I have a courtyard this way, I can take you there, should you be willing to go with me.”

Damen tried not to roll his eyes. “It sounds as if the courting has begun,” he said in a false-cheeful tone. “You should go, the Herzog of Kempt can’t wait."

* * *

Damen was being awfully good to Jeurre about this in a way that Laurent believed complimented his own style of ruling. He found himself with another bloom of fondness for Damen then, as he let Jeurre beg the Akielon king for forgiveness now.

Laurent waited, eyes scanning the crowd that had begun to gather from the outside in. Every one of them that could see Damen and Laurent in the low light of the hall pointed them out to those who could not, whispering as they moved about the space.

It made sense when he learned Fynn was already here.

“It would appear so,” Laurent agreed when Damen mentioned the courting, and where he would have wished they had a moment more together in private before that was the case, Laurent had to go. He had to allow himself to be courted.

“Behave,” he whispered to Damen playfully before turning his attention to his councillor.

“Show me to him,” he told Jeurre, casting a warm glance back to Damen before he followed Jeurre off into the parting crowd.

* * *

Damen watched Laurent go, but he wasn’t worried. Fynn was going to fail, because Laurent did not like to be summoned, especially by some duke. Laurent was the King of Vere, not the second-in-line prince that Fynn had known before—and he would soon learn it. He had wanted to give Laurent a proper goodbye, but it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t see each other again.

So he made his way through the crowd, sipping on his wine until he spotted Lydos and a group of other Akielons. He only wished Nikandros were present, so he would at least have someone equal in rank.

****

Fynn knew that Laurent wouldn’t decline his invitation. He had waited until this evening to give him time with Damianos, to allow him his time to talk to his betrothed. He understood that this wasn’t easy, and knew he was very much at a disadvantage. But he had confidence that he could be a kind and loving husband, more so than any spoiled Akielon king only renown for his habits in the bedchamber and killing Auguste.

How Laurent had ended up thinking he as in love with him was beyond Fynn’s understanding.

“Your Majesty,” Fynn greeted with a bow. He had changed to more party-appropriate attire, this time black, blue, and purple silk entwined with velvet. Gold accents made his jacket stand out better, and his hat sported a blue and gold feather.

Jeurre kept looking around nervously, likely looking for Damianos to come in a rage. “Your excellency, I have done as requested. I do hope you enjoy the party.”

“I have not been so a home so inviting,” Fynn said with a smile. “Thank you, Councillor.”

Jeurre was quick to excuse himself, but Fynn didn’t even hear it. Laurent looked…magnificent. So regal and strong, in a way Fynn hadn’t expected him to ever look.

“I have a gift for you,” Fynn said. “But you look so…I don’t have words.” He laughed, cheeks flushing pink. “Perhaps your gift can wait. I would not like to soil your clothing before the festivities have even begun."

* * *

Fynn looked absolutely dashing, as Laurent was expected of a Kemptian Duke. His clothes had become much finer over the years. Laurent remembered what clothes he used to play about Vere in, skinning the knees of his breeches and the scuffing his shoes while playing around with Auguste.

Laurent remembered one very particular instance where Fynn had attempted to wrangle a hog in his teen years and ended up with his garments absolutely caked in mud. Laurent recalled it so well because Fynn had /hugged/ him afterwards and gotten Laurent in quite a bit of trouble.

Back then, Fynn had worn a lot of darks blues with lighter purples, youthful and energetic in both appearance and attitude. Now, his palette was dark, regal, lush. And that feather in his cap was certainly enviable. Laurent always had admired the Kemptian pension for feathers.

Laurent had expected to find Fynn with a pet at his side, enjoying what the party had to offer in its early stages, but here he was, idling, quite obviously awaiting Laurent as patiently as he could.

Laurent had known he would wait the day.

“Your plans for my courting involve soiling my clothes on the first evening?” Laurent asked cheekily, brow raised as he folded his arms over his chest, his index finger gracefully tapping at his bicep. “Perhaps I have misjudged Kempt’s couth for quite a many years.”

* * *

“I must be memorable somehow, yes?” Fynn laughed. He had thought about making a comment on rumors he had heard about Laurent returning from his boar hunting trip with four days worth of soiled clothing, but had thought it best not to mention it. After all, they were just chitons. Though whatever Laurent had been doing out there, Fynn knew it wasn’t hunting.

There was still so much to learn from him.

“I suppose I could present it to you here, but I do not intend to buy your hand,” Fynn said. “I doubt Kempt has the money anyhow.” That wasn’t entirely true, Kempt was certainly doing better than Vere financially.

“And I must admit I was going to give you this gift regardless of your decision. Call me nostalgic.”

There were many gifts, technically, but prawns and seafood could hardly be considered a gift in Fynn’s eyes. There were just too many things he had remembered that Laurent always liked. Prawns, smoked fish, and iridescent shell jewelry, and a necklace of black pearls.

That, and his gift.

“I would rather show you privately, if my opinion matters,” Fynn chuckled. “So you do not have to school your surprise."

* * *

It was thoughtful, Fynn’s offer of privacy, and honestly, Laurent supposed it might be better to receive the gift in private. Damen was still at this particular party after all, and where Laurent would never be a bought man, he did not want to try Damen’ patience anymore than he already was today.

“I will call you many things,” Laurent told Fynn. “I suppose I can include ‘nostalgic’.”

Laurent found himself smiling, gift offers aside. Laurent remained aware of the competition at hand, but it was so good to see Fynn again, all politics aside.

“When did you acquire this jaw?” Laurent asked, the tip of his finger grazing against the sharp line Fynn’s jaw had grown into. “You had the face of a baby well into your twenties.”

* * *

Fynn grinned, happy that he had been able to bring a smile to Laurent’s face. It wasn’t something he had expected to see so early on in the evening. All of the rumors he had heard painted Laurent as a coldhearted king, but Fynn couldn’t see that in him now.

Laurent’s touch to his jaw made him jump slightly, because he hadn’t expected a touch at all this evening, much less one to his face. It was so intimate…perhaps he had a chance in this after all.

“I starved for two months at sea,” Fynn said with a shrug. I supposed that rid me of every ounce of fat on me.” He looked over Laurent, not hiding his appreciation. “You are as young as I was then, yet I would look a fool standing next to you. Even now, I would not fare well.”

He smiled, offering his arm.

“I will do my best to keep you clean. Will you come with me?"

* * *

Two months at sea. It was something Laurent doubted he would ever experience. Vere did bit have many boats. The sea was treacherous and cold on their borders, and even then, most of the sea was owned by Akielos and Kempt. The sea was never something Vere had ever seen merit in aside from a few delicacies....

But a union with Kempt might change that.

It would be scandalous for Laurent to leave the party, but surely, they would not be going /so/ far. Fynn was here with Jeurre, probably had stayed here, and whatever gift he had would probably be nearby.

But...leaving with Fynn at the first moment of their courting would be inconsiderate to Damen, and also to his host.

“Jeurre was kind enough to summon you here to organise this meeting between us again,” Laurent chastised Fynn, flicking his jaw as he pulled his finger away. “We should not leave his party before it has even begun.”

That worked, surely.

* * *

So close, and yet Laurent was tied to duty. Fynn sighed, but he was smiling. “I suppose I will have to be craftier than that to get you alone,” he teased. “So be it. I will return shortly with your gift.” he bowed, careful not to let his feather hit Laurent in the face as he did so. The gossip was already beginning for those who had watched Fynn’s arm not be taken, but Fynn didn’t mind. Laurent did have to keep up appearances for another king.

Kemptian official lined up to meet Laurent, and Jeurre rushed in once again, feeling much better now that his original idea was finally presenting itself.

It was only a few minutes before excited murmuring started up in the crowd, and everyone parted to give Fynn a clear line to Laurent, and ample space at that.

Fynn rounded the corner holding a lead rope spun with gold and silver thread that attached to a halter laden with small silver bells and pearls. The crown piece had an ornate silver and gold starburst that rested on the horses’s forehead, but even that could not distract from the beauty of the animal.

A black warmblood stallion walked proudly behind him. He was a beautiful specimen, muscled and shining in the moonlight, his coat perfectly black except for a white snip on his nose and four white socks on his legs. He carried himself proudly, his gait perfectly balanced even at the walk. A collar and breastplate of black leather blended to his coat, covered in silver and gold starbursts that looked part of his body. Around each foot were ringlets made of embroidered starbursts matching in color, adorned with tiny silver bells that jingled softly with each step. Instead of a saddle, he carried two gold baskets, one on each side, that overflowed with shellfish and jewels, still glittering with ice from being stored in the snow.

The stallion was a deity among horseflesh, far and above any horse in Vere or Kempt or Akielos, Fynn was sure.

“For you, Laurent,” Fynn saw with a deep bow. in his other hand was a long, spindly whip, which he used to tickle the stallion's knee. In a show of Fynn’s horsemanship, the stallion dipped his head and curled a leg, bowing alongside him.

“His name is Bavar, and I promise you will find no horse better."

* * *

It had been a considerable amount of time since Laurent had last been rendered speechless by anything. There was no conceivable way to hide his surprise when he saw the stallion, a few hands taller than Ven, and absolutely formidable in a way that Ven could never appear. She was fast and lithe, this horse was.../powerful/, and Laurent could see it.

It took everything to keep his jaw from loosing and dropping.

This horse was to be.../his/?

A crowd had gathered, marvelling and in vocal awe as the horse bowed before the Veretian king, and evening Laurent was impressed.

He felt like his heart had burst, if he were being honest. The horse was absolutely gorgeous, a /statement/ of an animal, and Laurent could not keep himself from closing the gap between them to place his hand on the horses nose, his other under his chin.

Laurent just..../marvelled/, so much so that he had not even noticed the baskets the horse carried.

“Bavar,” Laurent repeated softly, testing the horse’s iron temperament. He allowed Laurent to pet him, to move around him.

Any regard Laurent has had for Damen had sort of...faded into the background for a moment. Fynn had found his weakness - an absolute love for horses, and well...for the moment, /he/ did not even have Laurent’s attention.

Laurent /loved/ Ven, and yet he could not wait to hop upon this stallion and—

Damen had given Ven to Laurent.

Laurent felt his heart sink. He’d not thought a hiccup would come this early on. Veretians were not /supposed/ to have Kemptian horses and hadn’t since they lost Kempt as an ally. He never could have expected this.

He had no idea what to /say/.

* * *

Fynn held the stallion still, but he was confident that nothing would happen. Not only was he the most stunning horse Fynn had ever seen, but he had the temperament of an older gelding. He had brains, sense, and a will to succeed in any trial. There was simply to better horse of this age in any kingdom, and he had looked. Thankfully, finding Bavar had only meant purchasing him from a friend in Kempt, but it had been no small feat to obtain him.

It was all worth it to see Laurent both speechless and awestruck. It brought out the side of him Fynn had grown up with—a bit of childlike wonder. He watched with a grin as Laurent pressed his hand to Bavar’s nose, and the horse snuffled his palm in response, ever the gentleman.

“Do you like him?” Fynn asked, petting Bavar’s neck. “I will have the seafood brought to the palace to be kept for your there, and the jewelry will come with men I trust.” He reached into one of the baskets and pulled a string of black pearls, presenting it to Laurent. It was a bit awkward under Bavar’s neck, but Fynnw as too excited to care.

“They come from the furthest reaches of the east,” he offered. “Attached to clothing or a crown they would be magnificent, I think.”

Bavar turned his head, showing off the musculature of his neck as he investigated the pearls himself.

“Would you like to ride him?” Fynn offered. “You simply must feel his gait—it is like nothing you have ever experienced, I am sure. He is so balanced it is like riding a cloud."

* * *

Did Laurent /like/ him? How could he /not/? Had he not made it obvious that he did, with his absolutely silence, his wide eyes, his quiet adoration as he stroked the horse’s nose. The stallion was a /wonder/.

And he was Laurent’s.

The pearls were lovely as well. Laurent would enjoy seeing them woven into one of his crowns. He did not wear much black aside from his trousers from time to time, and where he knew Charls would have loved to work with them, they would be much more fitting for a crown.

And the jewellery!

Laurent had never been courted before. He did not know how much truly came with it. Not even Auguste had given such gifts to the noble daughters and princesses he courted. He took them fine perfumes, oils, fine glass jewellery and vases, but a /horse/ and handcrafted jewellery?

People were staring. Laurent could feel it.

“After,” Laurent murmured softly before clearing his throat and speaking with a proper filled voice. “After the celebration. I will ride him back to the palace.”

* * *

Fynn aimed to change Laurent’s mind. He did feel he was the best suitor for him, should their connection build to something greater than childhood friendship. He had been more than ready to take Auguste up on his offer during the war until everything changed. Laurent’s beauty was unquestionable, his mind far above most. He would make anyone an excellent husband, and Fynn did not think that Damen was good enough for him.

“I will have him saddled for your departure, then,” Fynn agreed. “Whenever that may be.” He looked up, calling an attendant over to see to putting Bavar back into his stall. He hoped this meant he would be riding back with Laurent as well.

“Lead him,” Fynn offered, extending the rope to Laurent. “He will not be spooked.”

Bavar let out a sigh, jingling his bells as he shook himself off an let out a silly looking yawn as if to prove he was no threat.

“Show Vere your new gift,” Fynn encouraged. “I am sure he would love to stretch his legs."

* * *

More than anything, Laurent wanted to take that lead and acclimate this horse to him. He wanted to start bonding with it, wanted to give it apples and...we’ll, Bavar hardly needed any more training. He was deceptively foreboding in appearance, so much that even Laurent had to smile at the little yawn. He patted the horse’s nose.

They could bond later. Laurent could not yet give Fynn this satisfaction, the feeling of power.

“You’ve something against me staying at this party,” Laurent told Fynn, pointing a finger at him accusingly, but with a softness that’s usually came with his put-on flirting. He managed to pass the lead back to Fynn, having not even realised he had taken it.

“Saddle him in an hour,” Laurent told Fynn’s men confidently. “Should I decide to stay longer, you can free him up and then do it again when /I/ desire to leave.” He smirked at Fynn, eyebrow arched.

He didn’t say it would be an easy game for /Fynn/.

* * *

Fynn chuckled, nodding to his men. Laurent would not give in easily, but Fynn did not expect him to. After all, this was the boy who always made sure to be last in the ring for any sort of sparring, far and beyond what was sane. Laurent simply did not like to lose in any respect (though back then he had lost quite often to Auguste).

“I meant leading him around the courtyard, for the record,” Fynn chuckled. “But if you wish to paint me more desirous of you and I alone together, I will not argue.” He handed off the lead rope to the attendant and once the pearls were returned to their basket, he gave a last pat to Bavar and took his place at Laurent’s side—his hands behind his back this time.

He would not be rejected twice in one evening for all to see.

“Are you upset with me about the competition?” Fynn asked, smiling at some of the guests. “I hope you see why I could not tell Jeurre my true intentions when I did not yet have an inkling of your answer.”

Inside, Pallas returned to Damen, shaking his head in disbelief. “He has presented him the finest horse I have ever seen,” he relayed. “A black stallion covered in starbursts, a laden with seafood and jewelry.”

Damen finished his second chalice of wine. “Laurent has Ven.”

“Now Laurent has Ven /and/ Bavar.”

Damen called for more wine.


	6. Part I: A Private Viewing (14.6.20)

Laurent watched the horse be led off, this time keeping his marvelling much more subdued. To think he would have such a horse, one that may be even faster and more powerful than Damen’s. Perhaps it would be a sore spot at first, but after? Laurent hoped there would be a day where he and Damen could race the horses in good faith—

And Laurent could leave him in the dust.

He turned his attention back to Fynn when he was questioned, tilting his head just so as Fynn tried to explain himself.

“You always were the risk taker of the three of us,” Laurent reminisced, thinking back to when they were children. “I always thought it was because you had no title to protect. I believe you may just be a glutton for peril.” And for drama - even more so than a Veretian.

“Really, you could not have had worse timing.”

But Laurent was not being his usual unkind self, just as he was not stringing Fynn along as he had with Lord Torvald. He was being /friendly/ in a way where, had Fynn come at a more fitting time with his offer, he never would have seen Laurent like this. He never would have seen Laurent as Damen had, and loved him despite.

* * *

“Where is life’s excitement when there is no peril?” Fynn returned with a grin. It was true, he had been more free to misbehave with no title to protect, but Auguste had put him up to many schemes on his visits to Vere. His childhood had been full of adventure, as had his twenties.

Fynn wasn’t put off by his timing. He grabbed a pastry from a passing tray and took a bite, savoring the powered sugar and flaky, buttered bread.

“I care for you,” he said simply. “And I believe I am a better match—and would be a better husband—than Damianos. So I will continue to try, because you are so important to me.”

He knew he did not have the history that Laurent did with Damianos, but he had far more years of Laurent’s life where he learned the core of Laurent that he doubted Damen knew. How could he? The man had killed the light in Laurent’s life.

“I did not take the most necessary risk of all,” Fynn reminded him. “I should have visited. I should have been here while the Regent controlled this land. I could have done something, or at least seen what he was doing to this kingdom."

* * *

Laurent did not correct Fynn on his assumptions of Damianos only because of the game at play. He would let Fynn believe that as he desired, but if Laurent did nothing else in this game, he would make Fynn see that Damen /was/ a good man. He was good, and kind, and just despite what he had done to Auguste. It had been a matter of life and death and war. No one would wave expected him to do anything else than what he had.

Laurent /did/ however correct Fynn on his assumptions on what he could have done when Laurent’s Uncle had taken charge.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Laurent reassured Fynn, wanting that off his head. “My uncle was a crafty and manipulative man. You would have ended up his supporter. It was something that needed to be - and was - handled from the inside.” With...one additional player from the outside that happened to work his way in. Laurent would not have defected his uncle without Damianos at his side.

“He tried to execute me for treason,” Laurent did laugh then. “And he almost succeeded. You only would have hurt yourself of your country in getting involved.”

* * *

Fynn doubted that. Kempt had abandoned Vere precisely because the Regent had taken the throne. With no familial ties holding their king, the royal family had taken their leave, ending a partnership that had brought Vere and Kempt prosperity. Yet Laurent had chosen the unlikely ally in Akielos and secured a seemingly impossible ascension to the throne.

“I would have never ended up his supporter,” Fynn corrected. “I despised that man. Auguste warned me never to trust him, and I saw enough to know why he also instructed me to never leave you alone with him under any circumstances.” It filled him with dread to think that Laurent had been so young and vulnerable with that demon of a man.

Fynn peered down at his arm when he noticed snow beginning to fall, watching the flakes land on the velvet before melting away.

“Perhaps we should return indoors, else Damianos will have me hanged for freezing you to death. Akielons do hate cold with a passion."

* * *

Damen would have noticed the way Laurent set his jaw at the very mention of his Uncle. Damen would have seen the way that Laurent went entirely too still when Fynn mentioned anything regarding being left /alone/ with him. Damen would have instantly broke into some passionate reassurance for Laurent, threatened the dead man and somehow praised Laurent in an unnecessary way. Fynn didn’t notice. Fynn didn’t do that.

Laurent was grateful to /physically/ move away from it.

“I hear the Akielon punishments are more humane than my own,” Laurent mused as they stepped back inside. The guests had grown considerably in numbers, and the music had certainly picked up by the time they re-emerged in the dim hall. Laurent caught Jeurre’s wife crossing the room with a tray of pastries.

Fynn was not wrong about the Akielons hating the cold.

“Would you be able to handle the cold if you were wearing such little cloth?” Laurent joked comfortably, as it was a joke he made so commonly with Damen at his side that he did not see the trouble doing so in their company as well.

Speaking of Damen, he could see him now, sitting over amidst the cushions with Pallas. Lazar has obviously joined their group, leant back with his head on Pallas’ lap, laughing. Well, those two were. Laurent could not make out how Damen was faring.

But he could guess.

* * *

“So I hear,” Fynn chuckled. “You castrated Cylan! Thank god someone did.” He didn’t blame Laurent in the slightest, even though he wasn’t sure what Cylan had done. Whatever it was, he should have had his organ removed long ago. Fynn remembered him from his youth--and his penchant for young boys.

He laughed at the comment about Akielon clothing. “In so many of their songs they boast about hot blood, but one cool breeze and they are the first to shiver,” he joked.

Fynn followed Laurent’s gaze to where Damen sat sprawled on cushions with an Akielon of his guard and a Veretian of Laurent’s who seemed fond of each other. He imagined there was much of that going on between Akielons and Veretians now—and one look around at the pets lining the hall confirmed it.

He frowned. “Laurent,” he said, trying not to sound as if he were complaining. “I know I have caused trouble here, but…I am serious about my intentions for you. I know you have been with Damianos for some time now, but I am not hear for just the public to see. I am here for you.”

Damen, to his credit, had seen Laurent and Fynn enter and promptly turned his head. When Pallas informed him they had not yet moved out of sight, he turned himself to lie across the cushions with his back facing them. He did not want to see admiration or anything positive in Laurent’s eyes regarding that man.

* * *

Laurent pulled his eyes from Damen back to Fynn, not even bothering to play at innocence. He’d been caught, and he wouldn’t insult Fynn’s intelligence like that.

Playing this game with Fynn had already proven more difficult than all of Laurent’s precious games with those foolish enough to fall for him. Unlike the others, Laurent had history with Fynn, a fondness from the good years of his life that he could not just throw away now. No, there was no world where Fynn won this in Laurent’s mind. He just had to play the game a little differently here.

So, Laurent did something unprecedented.

He simply told the truth.

“You are doing as much brother asked you to,” Laurent dismissed, turning away for only a moment when an attendant came around to present him with a tray of sweets. Laurent picked out a small pastry without much thought before giving his attention back to Fynn.

“I see a future for us,” Laurent told Fynn evenly, playing in the grey area of it all. “Just as I see a future for Vere and Akielos. We have mentioned your poor timing before, but we would be remiss not to mention it again. You have made this /very/ difficult for me.”

* * *

Fynn tried to ignore the flare of annoyance in his gut. He was a diplomat, but he was someone who had been close to Laurent when they were younger, and he thought he deserved a little more credit than just doing as Auguste had asked. In all likelihood they would have ended up married anyway, Auguste would have all but demanded it as king to ensure the relations between Kempt and Vere remained.

“I am doing it at Auguste's request, yes,” Fynn replied, turning to face Laurent. This was no longer a walking and talking conversation. “But I could just as easily have kept the letter hidden or denied Jeurre’s request altogether and you would have been none the wiser.”

He let out a sigh, his telltale sign of frustration for those who knew him well. “I have done this for Auguste, but more so for you. /You/ are important to me, even though I have been rubbish at showing it in the past few years, that does not mean I haven’t been thinking of you.” His cheeks flushed pink.

“I would have come to your ascension, you know,” he added. “And I know the reason I was not invited was because I was likely forgotten—and that is fine. I will not pretend I was pining after you the entirety of our time apart, I am not a liar. And I would not even say it was pining! I simply have a fondness for you—I always have—and to hear—to hear—“

He gestured vaguely, unable to finish his thought for fear that others would hear.

“I know my chances are slim,” Fynn finally decided to say in a low voice. “But I think I at least deserve a chance, Laurent."

* * *

It shouldn’t have surprised Laurent. He and Fynn had been close for years, had grown together despite their age difference. They had been through so much together, but it had been well before Laurent’s most transformative years in his opinion. Laurent had left most of that life behind, the life before Auguste’s death, looked back on it like a dream or a fairy tale he had read as a child. Nothing from back then felt /real/ anymore.

Yes, Laurent’s relationship with Fynn probably would have ended in marriage back then - it just would have, but...it would have been diplomatic, political.

It shouldn’t have surprised Laurent, but it very much did when he realised that /this/ was not /meant/ to be either of those thing.

Fynn...was fond of him.

Fynn had /remained/ fond of him. After all these years.

Laurent’s mind made everything nefarious, made it so that everything was a ploy against him. He turned every incident that could be into a plotted out attack and counterattack and, well, he had never suspected...true intent and honest feelings.

“I am not who I was when you knew me,” Laurent offered, still defensive. He had to be! How else was he supposed to handle such truth at such short notice? “I’ve grown. I’m a king. Things are—“ He had Damen. “—different.”

* * *

Fynn knew Laurent well enough to know when he was getting defensive—it was practically all he ever did when Auguste corrected his technique in any event. He wasn’t bothered by it, even if the situation did bother him. He wanted to compete with Damianos, not be a trifling loser for the public to whisper about.

“Yet you still adore horses and prawns,” Fynn chuckled. “Things have changed, but you have not. Maybe outwardly, and yes, you have grown, but I am not Damianos. I have known you far longer than two summers.”

He smiled, but it was a little weaker this time. “And that is just the truth, not meant to disparage. I just ask that you don’t discount me. I have done my fair share of growing myself.”

He took a small step back, not wanting to crowd him.

“I know I have taken much of your time this evening. If you need more time to sort through what I have said, I will not impede you further."

* * *

Laurent did still love horses, and he could only assume he still enjoyed prawns. He would know when those Fynn had brought him were cooked up, anyway.

Fynn had known Laurent for a /long time/. He could remember Fynn as far back as to when he was five, but he had heard the boy had been there even before that, Auguste’s right hand man, before Laurent was old enough to participate in their chaos.

Laurent did not /owe/ this to Fynn, but...he did want to give this to him. Laurent had not changed his stance on the outcome of this by any means, but it seemed fair not to mock the process anymore. He would need to be kind - he /wanted/ to be kind.

Fynn had been his friend for so long, and Laurent truly had so few of those.

“Accompany me by the fire,” Laurent told Fynn when he mentioned departing, nodding over to the far corner where the crowd was thinnest. There were cushions available there, and it seemed like a good place to enjoy a few desserts while entertainment in the centre of the hall began.

He would let Fynn have him for the celebration. Damen had expected it.

* * *

Fynn had expected Laurent to go to Damianos, to return to his beloved king and lament ever having to spent time with a courting duke. Instead, he seemed to have finally broken through to him. The prospect of sitting by the fire with Laurent sounded heavenly, and he would not press it further.

He followed Laurent to the cushions by the fire and set his hat down beside his cushion and took his seat so that his feather wouldn’t come close to tickling Laurent’s nose. The fire was pleasantly warm, and the fruit trays were piling up beside them.

“You still have a love of sweets, I gather,” Fynn laughed, plucking a fruit tart from a tray.

Pets began to gather, heading toward the demonstration areas, vying for Jeurre’s approval to perform in the great hall. Fynn watched them with passive interest. He had often been the one to find women for Auguste’s trysts, so he was well versed in pet tricks.

“You’ve never taken a pet?” Fynn asked, waving away a young boy who curled a finger in his hair. “They avoid you, so I assume you have not. Or do you castrate them too?”

* * *

It had never occurred to Laurent that, perhaps the tale of his coming to know Damen had not been widespread throughout the kingdoms. Damen was the closest thing Laurent had ever had to a pet, but even then, he would not have called him that. Laurent did not treat Damen as he would a real pet. He had tortured him, known who he was from the start, and made him suffer in a way Laurent would never make a pet.

It had also never occurred to him that the rumours of his cold heart and unwillingness to fuck anyone had not spread like wildfire across all the kingdoms.

Fynn truly seemed to know /nothing/ of /anything/ that had happened in the past few years of Vere. It was...a fascinating prospect, to be able to mould this into anything Laurent so pleased and desired.

He laughed softly to himself as he watched the pet retreat from Fynn, shaking his head in minute disbelief that...that something that so defined him in Vere truly did not define him everywhere else.

Yet.

“They know better than to try,” Laurent told Fynn, proudly adding, “I am notoriously prudish here. Most will tell you my last physical relationship was eight years ago with my brother.”

He had so many opportunities, but...Laurent enjoyed the rumours. He enjoyed how absolutely ridiculous they were. And for the first time, he got to share them with someone who would /know/ the rumours were just as absurd as he knew they were.

“Well,” Laurent went on non-apologetically, “that was what they said before Damen. Now no one truly knows what to believe, and no one is brave enough to ask.”

And Laurent likes being an enigma. He took a certain amount of pride in being misunderstood, in being different, in being feared.

* * *

Fynn was a bit confused. Prudish? Laurent had always kept to himself and had been disinterested in women, but he was a child back then. Fynn didn’t understand how a Veretian could be prude. A prince who did not take pets or women probably had earned the distrust of Veretians, and Fynn suspected now that Laurent did not have Auguste’s desires with women. He was bucking tradition to marry a man, after all.

He scoffed at the allusion f Auguste and Laurent as lovers. The thought made his stomach roil, and he knew then that Lauent had been dealing with things just as horrible as the Regent even after hsi death.

“I’m insulted, Veretians should be putting Auguste and I together—I had to keep watch while he fucked half the women in this kingdom!”

So Damen had done at least one good thing for Laurent. “You always want to be unknown,” Fynn said with a roll of his eyes. “I must say I don’t see how that benefits you as king. Especially with a court as troublesome as this one.”

He selected another pastry.

“Does Damianos take pets?” Fynn asked, genuinely curious. “I hear he likes them blonde with skin he can bruise.” He did not hide his dislike.

* * *

Laurent did get a smile out at the memory of Fynn having to be his brother’s babysitter. Laurent could recall a day where he had gone to Auguste’s room to visit, only to run into Fynn sitting outside, flipping through some book about the flora of Vere, bored. Laurent had instated upon seeing his brother to no avail. Fynn had merely say he was ‘in a mood’ and ‘could not be bothered.’

After the fifth time, Fynn just told him the truth, swearing Laurent to absolute secrecy. He’d been ten or eleven then, and he’d had no intentions of giving his brother up.

He also knew of times Fynn had been stuck /in/ the room with Auguste and his lovers. To this day, Laurent wondered if it was to stand guard or join in. Usually he would ask, but Fynn’s accusation of Damen caught the words in his throat.

And they were forced out in a laugh.

To be very fair, Fynn wasn’t wrong. If he could see Laurent shirtless, he’d only have fuel to his hatred towards Damianos.

Laurent found /that/ hilarious.

“Damianos does not take pets or slaves, no,” Laurent told him, still chuckling as he took a small bite of a flaky pastry, filled with berry jam. He wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“And wipe that sneer from your face,” Laurent snickered on. ”Certainly you understand that, if you are to court me, you have the same interests in blonds that bruise easily as he.”

* * *

Fynn wanted to argue that he had heard a very detailed account from a very expensive pet that Damianos had indeed taken him quite masterfully during a day of competition, but decided against sharing that information with Laurent. Something to bring to light if he needed to resort to that sort of thing.

“I do have an interest in blonds, but not in bruising them, Fynn retorted. He glanced over at a small stage where a beautiful pet was beginning a dance.

Jeurre approached them. “Your Majesty, Your Excellency—might I entreat you both to a private performance? King Damianos has accepted one, he said you might be interested.”

In actuality, Damen was stewing in a private room with a lavish pet entertaining Pallas and Lazar quite thoroughly.

“And what pet did Damianos choose?” Fynn asked. “And why was he not offered to His Majesty first, your king?”

Jeurre sputtered. “King Laurent—he has never taken a pet! I simply—“ Jeurre schooled himself. “He chose my most coveted boy. Hair like black silk that extends past his shoulders, fine features. But I have much more appealing pets, some I have never allowed for performance. finer pets than any seen before in this kingdom!”

Fynn cocked a brow. Was Damianos provoking them? Choosing a dark-haired pet was clearly some kind of ploy.

“Would you like to play, Laurent? Or have you lost interest in games?"

* * *

Laurent wanted to point out that some people just bruised easily, but before he could speak, they were once more graced with their hosts’s presence and the /interesting/ news he brought.

As Jeurre spoke and Fynn defended his honour, Laurent’s eyes moved over to where Damen had been lounged, the spot now empty. No one would dare take the Akielon king’s seat once he had chosen it, so there was no telling how long it has been since Damen had left. Laurent had not even noticed...

He was not cross, however. He knew Damen was not making a play at him. Laurent would never be worried about losing Damen’s affections to a dark-haired beauty of any caliber. He knew Damen knew that as well - probably why he had gone off with such a pet in the first place.

Laurent turned back to Fynn when he was addressed, his eyebrow cocked at the very mention of a game.

“I never pass on a game,” Laurent smirked, and in the next moment, he was offering his hand to Fynn so that he might stand and help him up.

“I would see your best pet, councillor,” Laurent agreed dryly, interested for see what other pets had been hiding in the woodwork.

* * *

Jeurre took them to his second finest viewing room (he was kicking himself even still for having offered Damianos the best room) but it was spectacular on its own. Each of his rooms had a theme, and this one was crystal. Damianos’s was gold. Ranbows shimmered throughout the room, the light bouncing off of the crystals hanging from the ceiling, dangling like suspended snowfall. Sharpl formations of immense size surrounded the small stage.

Fynn was impressed, not only because of the decor, but the way the noise of the party was no longer permeating the room.

Jeurre offered them fine white and light purple cushions to recline on, and Fynn dared to take a spot beside Laurent this time. Jeurre left them as servants brought fourth refreshments and pastries.

“Do you like to watch pets together?” Fynn tried, doing his best to understand how and why a Veretian king would not bother with them at all.

Before Laurent could answer, an absolute specimen of an Akelion emerged onto the stage. He was roughly Damen’s age, with sunstreaks of brown in his black hair, adorned with fine threads of silver beading intermixed with pearls. A circlet went around his face, obscuring it with a viel of more fine silver thread, pearls clacking together at the bottom.

His skirt was made of a similar style, obscuring nothing yet somehow accenting his muscled body. bracelets of small bells and pearls wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and he said nothing as he began to dance in an Akielon style, accompanied by the soft playing of a harp from the entrance where the pet had come through.

Fynn watched the pet carefully. “Do you think Damianos has sent him? Or is Jeurre making his opinion known?"

* * *

As Fynn marvelled about the room, Laurent took an insouciant pose on the offered cushions, accepting a few sweets and a water from the trays the servants brought. He left the wine for Fynn.

“We don’t watch pets,” Laurent responded without much give, but he was hiding a smile behind his pastry. Fynn was dogging, trying to figure Laurent out in a way Laurent had once been forced to watch Damen navigate through. Fynn truly wanted to understand Laurent, but like most, he was making it difficult on himself. Fynn had said Laurent liked to remain unknown, and though it was true, it was not as if he actively /worked/ for it. He simply remained himself and let everyone flounder around him.

Pets received the hints more easily.

Take this one for example: this absolutely beautiful Akielon man. He was new, had probably only seen the Veretian king in passing, but he already /knew/. The moments his eyes did flick up, the dark akielon brown irises glinting in the crystal reflections, his gaze settled on Fynn. He already had heard and understood the Laurent was cold, uninterested.

It was that easy.

“And this is Jeurre,” Laurent responded confidently, gesturing vaguely at the pet. The Akielon slaves were falling into the role quite well. “Damen knows better than to send a pet.”

Laurent was not actively trying at being rude. He kept his tone playful, but he did place a punctuated tone in every remark he made about something he /knew/ about Damen that Fynn did not. They had grown up friends, had grown up close. Laurent had every right to tease Fynn to this day. The Fynn he knew could take it.

“Praise him,” Laurent insisted upon Fynn, nodding towards the pet. “Come now, you speak Akielon well enough. Tell him how well he is doing.”

* * *

Fynn was realizing he had much to learn about Laurent indeed. Not watching pets? He couldn’t imagine why they wouldn’t. Damianos seemed to like the practice well enough. The Akielon pet danced gracefully, his strong body moving like a soldier at war. Perhaps he had been a soldier once—he clearly had the muscle for it.

“You /are/ strange, Laurent,” Fynn chuckled, sending back the same tone Laurent was giving. If Laurent wanted to get on his case, then Fynn could play that game. He was Auguste’s brother, and though different in many ways, many things were the same.

“I can see why Jeurre selected you as his finest pet,” Fynn said in perfect Akielon, holding the pet’s dark eyes. He was indeed handsome. “Do you speak?”

The pet smirked, twirling through his dance, his skirt fanning beautifully around him as he did so. When he faced Fynn again, his fingers traced his jaw, very similar to the way Laurent had touched him earlier.

“Are men of Kempt always so nosy?” the pet asked, his voice low and smooth. “And Veretian kings so disinterested in Akielon talent?” He didn't look at Laurent when he said it. “King Damianos is neither.”

The pet turned away again, continuing his dancing. He certainly wasn’t provocative like a Veretian pet would be, but that was what made him exotic and likely lusted after by even the most hostile Veretians.

Fynn cocked a brow, switching back to Veretian. “Nosy and disinterested—ten years ago those descriptions would have been swapped, certainly."

* * *

Oh, Laurent could only admire a pet so bold as to speak to the both of them like that. It was the key difference between a slave and a pet, as Laurent had been trying to explain to Damen for years. Proper pets had personalities, had rights. They had standing, they had power, were proud of their work, were confident in their place.

“Ten years ago, you would have been by Auguste’s side, not watching a pet dance with me,” Laurent corrected Fynn, chuckling as he leaned back against his cushions, watching the pet dance about.

Like Damen, the pet was also sporting two very familiar piercings, plus a few more throughout his body. He was an interesting pick for Jeurre’s household...

“Come here,” Laurent called forth the pet, pushing up on one arm and shamelessly reaching out to brush his thumb over one of the pet’s nipples, the jewellery there. “These don’t hurt you?” He asked, noticing the boy did not flinch when he touched them— well, not in pain.

* * *

“Yes, I would have been disinterested in Auguste’s choice in pet, and /you/ would be trying to sneak in to watch,” Fynn returned easily. He had been raised around Veretians, he knew his way around a word battle.

He cocked a brow when Laurent called for the pet. The pet finished out a few more steps to his dance, twirling once more before he turned to Laurent and moved from the stage to his cushion. Fynn was uneasy around this pet—he feared the man might harm Laurent, that he was loyal to Damianos and would exact revenge for those lash marks Fynn had been told came by Laurent’s hand. Something about Damianos as a prisoner, or something of the sort.

The pet let out a grunt when Laurent touched his piercing, a breathy laugh escaping soon after. “If you tear at them, they will hurt. But toying with them does something else entirely,” the pet replied in Akielon. “Would you like to find out what?”

Fynn fought not to roll his eyes. Nipple piercings. They originated in Patras, then came to Kempt, then to Akielos. Kemptian men hid theirs under clothing, but on ships silver and gold piercings caught sun on almost every man. Fynn had one on his right, not that it mattered. He had another piercing in a far more pleasurable place.

The pet’s skirt hid nothing, so it only took a quick look for Fynn to see he did not have a piercing there. He drank a sip of wine to calm himself before he said something foolish.

“I suppose Damianos complains of pain, then?” Fynn asked. of course he had noticed them. “Shame. They are quite enjoyable to play with in bed."

* * *

“He only just received them,” Laurent replied as he dismissed the pet back to his dancing. Any other man would have taken the pet up on his offer, but Laurent was currently balancing enough as it was. He wouldn’t add so much as a /rumour/ of a pet right now.

“Go to King Damianos,” Laurent said to the pet a moment later, having in only a few seconds justified such an action. The piercings would be the clear message from Laurent - a sign he was thinking of Damen, and the dismissal of such a fine pet would leave only rumours of Laurent and Fynn, which he could handle. And Damen could handle a few pet rumours - more so than Laurent could.

And if nothing else, dismissing the pet would confuse Fynn further, which Laurent actually found to be quite fun.

“Do you bed a lot of pierced women?” Laurent asked, and then, more thoughtfully, he asked, “Men?”

He remembered Fynn with Auguste and his girls, but Laurent had to say, he genuinely had not been around to see any of Fynn’s sexual exploits in that time. He could not be sure if, like with Damen, Laurent was suddenly an exception, or if this was normal for Fynn.

* * *

The pet frowned, not hiding his discontent with the order. But he figured Damianos would at least give him coin, so he spun into a low bow, then exited to make his way toward the gold room where Damianos resided. Many pets waited anxiously outside, eager for the chance to be called into the room, and they /hated/ it when the Akielon pet came striding confidently past.

Fynn was very much confused. Both by the pet and by Laurent’s question. He supposed Laurent had seldom been around when Auguste got up to his sexual escapades, so Laurent wouldn’t really know much about his sexual preferences.

“Men, mostly,” Fynn replied around a sip of wine. “Sailing does not involve many women. But I’ve slept with women as well. I simply do not find fucking as entertaining as everyone else seems to find it.” He chuckled. “And whenever I say that, men—always men—claim I simply have not had a good enough lay.”

He rolled his eyes. He certainly had been with some wonderful lovers in his time, but it wasn’t as if he made a point of having sex at every port.

“Not to make such a common comparison, but it is rather like riding a horse for sport. Enjoyable, tiring, but not necessary.”

Fynn looked to Laurent. “Do you not lay with women because of Auguste? He was so terrible at hiding it."

* * *

It was a refreshing view on coupling, Laurent had to admit, and he honestly felt relief in some tension he’d not even known he’d carried. Fynn had very similar ideas to his own, and it was so rare that Laurent heard such a take, that he almost went into a barrage of questions, but he deserved himself and just nodded around a sip of water.

Laurent found it equally refreshing to hear of someone in high standing of nobility who preferred men to women. He knew of only pets who directed their desires so explicitly, and Laurent had felt /off/ for quite a while for his leanings towards men and men alone. He could see the beauty in the female form, but he had much more fun emulating it than pursuing it.

“I do not lay with women because I have no desire to do so,” Laurent assured Fynn with a little dismissive wave. “They are beautiful, but my desires are so few and far between when it comes to desiring anyone. I do not see a woman ever slipping into them now.”

It was, again, /quite/ a bout of honesty from Laurent, just as Fynn had pulled from him in the gardens. Laurent was comfortable, that was all.

* * *

That made sense to Fynn. Laurent had never been all that interested in Auguste’s bedchamber activities. Usually boys his age were at least curious, but Laurent had been more bored than anything, though he did always want to be around what was happening. Fynn ocasionally bedded women, but more for a cathartic release than anything else.

“So that explains your lack of pets,” Fynn nodded. “And yet you are marrying the most insatiable man in the kingdoms?” He couldn’t understand. “I hope he takes many pets to spare you.” But Laurent had already made it seem like he disapproved to Damianos taking pets, which he also didn’t understand.

Fynn turned to his side, very much aware that they were alone here, and he wasn’t sure that was right for courting.

“I can’t imagine he is willing to wait until you desire him. I have heard he spent six hours in bed with one man—what could you possibly do for that long? How would that be enjoyable for either of them?”

He sighed, looking Laurent over. The crystals cast light on his face so nicely. “Or am I thinking of this in too fond a light? Is your marriage political? I cannot deny it would be a solid move for Vere."

* * *

Laurent /was/ marrying the most insatiable man in the kingdoms, yes, but things were very different with Damen. Damen made Laurent /want/. He understood Laurent in a way no other ever had, and their coupling was more than just for pleasure. Some times were, yes, but more often than not, they came from something deeper.

And yes, perhaps Laurent had fallen into bed with Damen once or twice just to quiet him, had used his body against his betrothed, but it did not bother Laurent. Fucking could be utilitarian as well.

What Laurent did say out loud, however, was a direct impression of Damen saying, “Seven,” when Fynn spoke of the six hour rumour. Laurent couldn’t help himself. He’d heard it so much it had become something of a joke between himself and Damen.

“He is a brute,” Laurent agreed, but he said it with a fondness Fynn did not possess for Damen. “And it would be a solid move for my country, yes, but I will not say it is only political. I am not simply a vessel for Vere’s advancement.”

Laurent propped up on his arm to face Fynn. There would be no rumours of what they had done in here - no serious ones anyway. No one would I assume such a menial task out of Laurent as fucking a new courtier in their privacy.

“He is a good man,” Laurent told Fynn /again/. “He is a good King, as well. He a selfless and he is kind. I would not be unhappy in my marriage to him if it comes to be.”

The last bit was for Fynn’s benefit.

* * *

Fynn still couldn’t understand why Laurent would admit his husband was a brute and yet wish to marry him still. But Laurent was young and perhaps a brute of a husband seemed more enjoyable than one who might try to wield power over him. He did not think Damianos was a very smart man (pretty ones seldom were) and perhaps that was what attracted Laurent. But someday soon he would see that marriage needed to consist of two minds, not one.

“I hope you will not be insulted by my hesitancy to believe that given what he has done,” Fynn said. “But I hope what you say is true.”

Laurent seemed so taken with him—Fynn couldn’t understand how a man like Damianos would even get close to someone like Laurent. He did catch the part where Laurent entertained his offer of marriage, and considered it quite good progress from where they had started.

“If he is so dear to you, I am sure it is torture for a man like him to be apart from you,” Fynn chuckled. “Perhaps I should take it as a compliment that he has not yet interrupted us.” He took another sip of wine. “Will you ride back to the palace with me this evening? If you will, I would be happy to send you his way for the remainder of the party—and yes, I am fully aware that it is not my choice whom you spend your time with, but I will say it anyway."

* * *

Laurent would find another day to convince Fynn that Damianos truly was everything Laurent said he was. It was too early to put too much focus on that. He would need to regain and strengthen his bond with Fynn, then they would work towards that.

They’d talked quite enough about Auguste tonight. Laurent did not want to try to justify his death on top of it.

“I did plan to ride with you,” Laurent said, already well ahead, as he usually like to be. “Usually, I would let attendants show you your lodgings, but you are not just a normal courtier, are you, Fynn?”

Laurent would not let him feel like one.

“But it is fair that I spend my time with him, I think. It would give you time to miss me.” Just as he had told Damen this morning.

* * *

Fynn smiled wide, glad he had not been mistaken in thinking Laurent would ride back with him. That, and he was no normal courtier in Laurent’s eyes. They really had made progress. The rest of the party would go by easily enough for Fynn, who had many a story to catch up on while he waited for Laurent to signal that it was time to leave.

“And I will miss you, that is sure,” Fynn said, still grinning. Talkign with Laurent was so easy, so familiar. He didn’t feel he had to be formal or present himself in any such way, especially now that he new Laurent was rather similar to him when it came to things of a sexual nature.

He stood up from the cushions, straightening his jacket and returning his hat to his head. “I will fetch him,” Fynn said, dropping to a knee again to take Laurent’s hand. He kissed the back of his palm sweetly, the way he always had as a much younger man. “You need not look far for me.”

It took only a matter of seconds to find Damianos, who had posted himself near the door the second he had learned Laurent had gone for a private viewing with Fynn. He’d tipped the pet very well for the location of the room, but did his very best to wait politely while Fynn explained what he already knew.

Damen wasted no time entering the room, at first taken by the crystals, then by Laurent lounging there.

“How I do wish Veretian clothing was not to difficult to remove,” Damen said in greeting, grinning ear to ear. It felt like they had been apart for a lifetime. “I had a very interesting conversation with a pet about you touching his piercings in a rather lustful way—have you missed me as well?"

* * *

“I will send for you to ready my horse,” Laurent assured Fynn, pushing you into a more comfortable position on the cushions. He had thought to rise, but if Fynn truly did fetch Damen, then Laurent saw no reason to move.

Even if he did want to see how the two would interact.

Laurent had not expected to see Damen so soon, and he certainly had not expected Damen to be in such a good mood. Laurent flashed a smile, holding out his arms to Damen to pull him down into the cushions. It had not been more than an hour that they had been apart, but Damen was treating it like his return to Vere. Perhaps a touch more positively.

“And I am wearing /many/ layers of Veretian clothing,” he chuckled, and oh, what a beautiful setting /this/ would have been for Lamen and Soren. The crystals, the fire, the quiet. Damen was dressed in his best and oh so becoming.

Laurent played it as cool as he could.

“And did the pet say that he did not complain when I did so? Did he say he feels no pain and only pleasure with them now? /That/ was the message I was trying to send to you.”

That and that he had obviously missed Damen.

“Was it Fynn who found you?” Laurent asked, intrigued and not afraid to hide it. The very notion of it tickled him, especially with Damen’s temperament.

* * *

Damen happily fell amongst the cushions, thrilled to be in Laurent’s arms again. He smelled so sweetly of Veretian perfumes, and not one bit like Fynn. The bit of distance had made Damen yearn for him as he had when they last parted at Marlas, and he didn’t know how he would endure more days of this—how he would endure nights apart.

“I saw the piercings and he told me you had sent him to me. So I paid him well to tell me where you were, and I posted myself as near as I could without seemed perverted,” Damen chuckled. “Yes, it was Fynn who found me—looking all too happy, I might add. I do not even remember what I said, I pushed past him and his feathered hat so quickly.”

Fynn had been lucky, and he hoped Laurent knew it. Damen pushed Laurent’s hair from his face, grinning wide. He had never been to a Veretian party as a king, and found it more enjoyable than he would have expected. He only wished Laurent could be with him for it.

“I have missed you,” Damen whispered, thumbing Laurent’s cheek. He wanted to kiss him so badly, but it was no longer his place, even here. “I did not ask the pet what you talked about, nor did he tell me. He truly is worth his weight in silver.”

He couldn’t stop smiling, and grazed his thumb over Laurent’s bottom lip. “I can see the benefits of this game,” he murmured. “I have not been thankful enough for you."

* * *

Perhaps it would not be too difficult to believe, but Laurent had not entertained the thought that there would be benefits for /them/ in this game of theirs. He had thought only of the country, of his kingdom, of a second union. He had not even stopped to think of himself and Damen. To think he had told Fynn he was not just a vessel for Vere’s future...

“You have been away for an hour at most,” Laurent responded with a roll of his eyes, but the warmth in his voice gave way to his fondness. He could not help it. His betrothed was absolutely ridiculous.

Yet Damen was also reserved, to an extent. Laurent noticed that he had not yet been kissed, that Damen had not so much as toyed with one of his lacings. Damen it seemed, for the moment, was playing this game very seriously, respecting the boundaries of proper courting. Aside from being In this room with Laurent, of course, but Fynn had been here alone with him first. It was only fair.

“Have you been enjoying the party?” Laurent asked then, thinking of their time apart, how he had seen Damen and how quickly Damen had disappeared. He wondered what Damen had heard so far of the gifts, of Bavar. “Has everyone treated you fairly?”

* * *

Damen wanted nothing more than to feather is lips along Laurent’s fair neck, to taste him once again. But he would not be docked for cheating at a game he was already destined to win. He had never courted anyone with intent to marry them (Jokaste hadn’t exactly been royalty needing to be wooed, so this was a first for him too. But he rather liked the advantage.

“I have been enjoying the party, actually,” Damen admitted. “Pallas and Lazar have proved great company, and I do very much enjoy the way so many Veretians are having fun without forcing pets on each other for enjoyment.”

He rested his forehead against Laurent’s, as close as he dared to his lips.

“I hear Fynn brought you the most beautiful horse in the kingdoms,” Damen murmured. “I cannot wait for the moment you come back to the palace in the carriage with me instead.” And Damen doubted the horse was as beautiful as everyone had said—they simply did not know horseflesh and wanted Fynn to win because he was from Kempt.

“How has he been? Besides a fool,” Damen asked with a grin.

* * *

The horse.

And the carriage.

Yes, right. Damen expected Laurent to ride back in the carriage with him. Of course he did. The weather certainly warranted a king riding back in a carriage, sheltered from the wind.

But Laurent wanted to ride Bavar. It wasn’t just about giving Fynn clout, about bolstering him so he felt as if he had a shot in this. Riding Bavar in the snow sounded.../fun/. It would be dangerous, it would be cold, but Laurent wanted the little adventure. It would be a two hour ride, one Damen would not be able to handle. Laurent would never ask him to.

He would make it up to Damen in the palace, perhaps get that kiss he so wanted now, break a few traditional courting values to warm up from the cold.

“Fynn has been a delight,” Laurent eased Damen into the news. “It has mostly been a game of catching up and reminiscing on Auguste’s past.” Which was a /touch/ tiring for Laurent, he would admit. “He still believes me to be the child he knew, and I am having to tell him otherwise. I think he finds me strange.” Or he would, Laurent was convinced. He had to.

“The horse is beautiful,” Laurent did have to defend next, and he already had taken a more defensive tone. He could justify supporting the stallion. That, and Laurent knew this was where things were going to become difficult. This was the time he would have to start to defend his decisions, and where Fynn had be questioning them all night, Laurent had already prepared himself for it to feel different with Damen.

“And I have decided to ride him back to the palace tonight.”

That was it. No further justification, though Laurent had quite a few. He didn’t want to have to go into it, didn’t want to argue, just wanted Damen to trust him.

* * *

It was not the response Damen had wanted to hear. A delight? He couldn’t see how such a foolish man could be a /delight/. Fynn hardly seemed capable of discussing anything but trading, politics, and ship talk—three things Laurent hated discussing. And Auguste, he supposed, but Laurent didn’t like to discuss that at all with him, so Fynn probably didn’t get much better reception. Yet they had discussed it.

The next two things out of Laurent’s mouth hit him unexpectedly, so much so that Damen pulled back to look at him. Laurent pretended the topic of discussion was the horse, but it was not. Laurent was going to ride back to the palace on his gift horse /with Fynn/.

He shook his head. “It is far too dangerous for that,” Damen said. “Not only because of the weather—but who will guard you? We have brought enough to guard our carriage, not the carriage and a separate party. You may trust Fynn, but I do not. I will not have you surrounded by Kemptians in charge of protecting you.”

Damen sat up, not hiding his annoyance. “Riding a black horse in the dark through a snowstorm is unwise and you know it. Have him brought tomorrow, leave Fynn and his horse to see you then."

* * *

This was what Laurent had been avoiding. He didn’t want to /argue/. And this had so little to do with Fynn. Laurent, and perhaps it was childish, just wanted to ride his new horse. Nothing had stopped him from riding Ven when Damen had brought her for him. It would be fun - exciting, even! And Laurent would get to play an actual game that he got to enjoy. The cold would not stop him.

“Since when have I ever relied on a guard?” Laurent asked incredulously, noting how Damen had moved back from him. He was annoyed - just as Laurent became in a flash. He had been expecting this, after all. “You have seen /first-hand/ that I do not benefit from /guards/.”

Laurent had been poisoned in the presence of guards. Laurent had run the course of a city with only Damen at his side, and even then, he had lost him along the way. Laurent had even gone off on his own into an Akielon farm, freed horses to create a distraction, by /himself/. Laurent did not /need/ guards any more than Damen did - especially not for a ride across his own kingdom.

* * *

“Laurent,” Damen said, exasperated. He didn’t see why this new horse warranted risking Laurent’s life in the worsening weather outside. Damen had heard Veretians talking about it, and he had even seen Jeurre discussing the subject at length with his head servant in case guests needed to bed there for the night!

“You cannot face five men yourself,” Damen argued. “If bandits came upon you and the Kemptians flee, even you could be taken—even I could be! A horse is not worth such a risk.” Not to mention Damen would be beside himself with worry if Laurent didn’t make it home.

“I will ride with you,” he said. “If you are so adamant. You can always rely on me.” To throw a sword or shield Laurent from harm, only Damen would put himself wholly at risk to protect the man he loved.

“But I do not understand why you cannot wait a day to do this. Why you must put yourself in danger unnecessarily."

* * *

Damen’s exasperation was as contagious as his annoyance. Laurent’s brow might have twitched if he did not have such militant control over his expressions.

“There are no /bandits/,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of hiss nose as if to rid himself of a headache. This was meant to have been easy, but Laurent knew better than to have expected it to stay that way. “There is no more unnecessary danger on a ride to the palace than there was coming here in the first place.”

“And you would not /last/ in this cold,” Laurent went on, still on the edge of irritation, not yet into his anger when his words could cut so much deeper. “You will take the carriage, you will stay warm, and we will hardly be a moment behind you. We will travel /ahead/ if that should make you feel better.”

This was such a silly argument - one not worth either of their time, but Laurent saw no reason to back down on his side. Fynn and he had done much more dangerous things in their youth. He knew for a fact Auguste would have taken this ride - Laurent had not just developed a penchant for danger because he did not see himself living past twenty. The sneaking around, the fun, foolish acts of a boy, he had learned from Auguste - and from /Fynn/.

And perhaps Laurent had not yet given up on his desire to impress Fynn. Who was to say?

* * *

_We._ Fynn and Laurent would travel ahead. In the freezing cold and snow, on an untested mount, with inclement weather. Damen was furious. Not because Laurent wasn’t giving up his ride, but because he was now deciding Damen had no part in it, which meant he wanted to spend time with Fynn instead. After they had just spent so much time together—all for a game!

But he could see Laurent was going to be a brat about it, and when he was being a brat he often forgot that Damen’s time here was finite.

“This is a foolish idea,” he said, because Laurent deserved to know that. “I will be at your apartments the moment I am free of that carriage, and Fynn will be sorry if I find him there.” He was already making Damen look like a pompous fool riding in a carriage by himself like a Veretian.

“If Fynn were a smart man, he would not allow this either. The risk to you far outweighs any reward.” But even as he said it, Damen knew he too would risk whatever he needed to if it meant stealing time alone with Laurent—especially from another suitor.

And if this was what an hour of being with Fynn could do, Damen feared what might happen on the ride home.

* * *

Laurent took /great/ offence to the idea that Fynn would be in his apartments after this. He took greater offence that Damen would by lying in wait, as if to oversee Laurent and whatever company he may have, as if to /control/ it.

A wall went up between them in an instant, clumsily built and on weak foundation. Damen has been set up for failure in this fight - in /any/ fight he had with Laurent, truly. Laurent was always ready for a warning, he was always prepared to - as Fynn put it - ‘make himself unknown.’ Damen’s disadvantage was how much he cared for Laurent, and because of that, Laurent knew the easiest thing to keep from Damen so as to best him: himself.

“If I were a smart man, I would have let you find out about this while you waited in the carriage,” Laurent said aloud, since the moment was gone. Truth be told, he’d never even had the thought, but he would not be one to lose an argument over something so foolish. Damen has a say in this, but he did /not/ get to control it - he didn’t get to control Laurent’s part in it.

Perhaps he was being a bit of a brat. Damen had called him on it before, but Laurent simply did not like the idea of being bested, liked even less when someone told him he could not do something. Laurent had, many times, put himself in danger just to show he could get out of it. The one time he’d had been unable to make it out by himself was the one time he had not planned to.

He would show Damen that he was the one being ridiculous here.

* * *

Damen curled his lip in hurt. he didn’t believe Laurent would actually do that, but hearing him say it so…nonchalantly was more painful than if he had screamed it at him. The thought of sitting in the carriage, waiting eagerly for his betrothed to join him, ready to discuss the events of the evening only to be left alone?

It was beyond hurtful, beyond a game.

“Well,” he said, standing up quickly. He adjusted his chiton himself, and resettled his crown. “Enjoy being victorious on your own then. Or perhaps Fynn will share in it with you while I wait at the palace for some sense to return to you.”

He strode from the room, not allowing Laurent another word in before he closed the door behind him and made his way to Pallas and Lazar, who jumped up upon seeing his face.

“I will be in the courtyard,” Damen snapped, blazing past them toward teh small gathering of Veretians watching the snow. Staying out in the cold would wipe the anger from his face, then he could return to the party.

“Already causing rifts, I see,” one of Fynn’s men chuckled. “I bet Damianos thought himself impervious."


	7. Part I: Weathering the Storm (21.6.20)

Laurent had...not expected Damen to walk out on him. Not so easily, not so swiftly. He took the sun and warmth right out of the room with him—

And Laurent refused to let it bother him.

Just as swiftly, Laurent was on his feet, adjusting himself and refusing to feel foolish. Left behind, walked out on... Damen could not even try to stand against him in an argument.

When Laurent left the room, his expression was untroubled, his visible perspective composed. Lazar noticed him first, and as Laurent made his way over, Lazar’ down lackadaisical attitude fell away to something very tuned to self-preservation.

“King Damianos went to the courtyard,” he announced, nodding off to the entry way before Laurent could so much as ask.

“I was not looking for him,” Laurent dismissed coldly, eyes passing from Lazar to Pallas of Damen’s guard. He and Lazar got on quite nicely - two soldiers from opposing sides of a war, come together as Laurent and Damen had. He wondered what troubles lay between /them/. “Where is councillor Jeurre?”

“He and his wife are just in there-“ Lazar informed Laurent as he pointed to one of the halls that led away from the main. “I think they needed a moment away. Since the celebration began, they congratulations have not—“

“I did not ask for your thoughts,” Laurent stopped him, and he walked off. Just walked away, as Damen had just done to him.

“Bitch,” Lazar murmured as he turned back to Pallas.

* * *

Damen loved Laurent, but he could not stand to be in a room with him while he was choosing another man. Riding home with him in a dangerous storm just to—to prove a point or make him angry. Normally Laurent had a reason for lashing out like this, but Damen could find none here. None that didn’t make his heart turn in his chest.

It was not as if he felt Laurent might fall out of love with him, but it was as he’d feared. Laurent wanted someone different, someone to have fun with, who was newer and engaging than he. Than his betrothed.

Fynn noticed Laurent’s exit soon after Damen’s, but made his way through the crowd slowly to follow Laurent. He heard Lazar’s comment as he passed behind him, but Fynn knew this anger. Laurent may be older now, but he had acted much the same as Auguste. He had no idea what the fight was about, but he could guess.

But instead of butting in, Fynn merely took a place outside of the small hall Laurent had entered and did his best to listen so that he could better understand how to proceed.

* * *

Laurent greeted Jeurre amicably enough when he stepped into the room, certainly interrupting a moment of quiet time between him and his wife. He heard the tail end of the conversation, Jeurre’s wife telling him to relax, to enjoy the party. Laurent could imagine Jeurre was still at great odds with himself over what had come of his win.

“Your majesty,” they both greeted, bowing low as Laurent neared them.

“Is there anything you desire?” Jeurre’s wife asked quickly, expecting only to be sought out in such a case. “I have many an attendant who could—“

“I only came to congratulate your husband,” Laurent cut her off before she could throw herself into a tizzy. He did it out of good Will, and his tone was much softer than it had been when he had spoken with Damen just now, with Pallas and Lazar.

Jeurre’s wife let out a little gasp, gave a big smile to her husband then, patting his back.

“Your majesty,” she went on, “if I may....” Laurent nodded to give her permission to speak. “My husband truly did not know of the intentions of the Kemptian. He truly only wanted to reunite our people with your mother’s people, and he remembered you both as little boys, and he thought it might be...nice. We meant no disrespect to the Akielon King.” Fear tinged her otherwise kind voice, which Laurent was not at all surprised by. He had a reputation after all. “We never wanted you or King Damianos to feel disrespect.”

“I do not,” Laurent assured her.

“But the Akielon king...” She went on, but Laurent stopped her before she could begin to worry again.

“He is confident in his place in this. You need not worry about him. His current issue is with the weather, not with what your husband has done.” Laurent did so love to leave his council right in the edge. “It was a wonderful idea, and this is a wonderful party. I merely wanted you to know that should I not see you before I depart.”

“It would seem Cylan controls the weather,” Jeurre managed to joke, his voice still thick with anxiety, but he managed to force a chuckle to clear it. “He was quite cross with my victory and seems to have damned my celebration. But we do have rooms for those guests in need.”

It was a kind gesture - not one that Laurent would entertain, but a kind one.

He congratulated Jeurre again and thanked him for the celebration. With that, Laurent reached to his side and, from under his cloak, pulled out a small coin purse.

“Winnings were never discussed, but this should cover the celebration,” Laurent told them as he handed it over. They were rich, and they needed no more money, but Laurent did feel he owed Jeurre a little more than he knew here. Even this fight with Damen did not detract from that.

He had no destination when he stepped back out into the hall, his face for a brief moment flashing with the exhaustion and contempt he was holding in.

* * *

Fynn was able to hear the conversation quite clearly from where he stood, and it warmed him beyond measure. Laurent tried to come off as someone cold and calculating, but behind it all he truly was Auguste’s brother. Jeurre was a pain in the ass, but he was still a decent person, and Fynn knew what his wife said was true. He had kept his intentions a secret from them.

A king did not need to tell his hosts that he enjoyed a party. A king did not need to tell him in private either, to make sure they weren’t afraid. Jeurre had right to worry, and while Fynn wasn’t sure Damianos could be said to have no qualms with them, having Laurent’s blessing was arguably better than his.

When Laurent strode past him, Fynn saw the exhaustion on his face. It could not be easy to do such duties so young.

“Laurent,” he said, stepping from his place against the wall. He rested a hand on Laurent’s arm, patting there once. “You are a good king. I know perhaps it was not good of me to—“

A cold draft washed over them both as thick winter curtains were parted and Damianos emerged rounding the corner down the hall. His skin was red from cold, his nose especially. Fynn froze and Damianos noticed him at once, his face falling to stone just a moment later.

Fynn momentarily feared he would be attacked by this formidable man, the contempt was so fierce in his eyes.

“Exalted,” Fynn greeted, bowing his head.

Damianos dipped his head in greeting. “Duke. Your Majesty.” He continued walking, but did not stop to talk with them before moving by. “Excuse me, I must return to the party.”

With a swirl of his red cape, Damianos disappeared down the hall and back to the festivities.

Fynn chuckled. “I suppose I should be glad I survived such an encounter,” he said, removing his hand where he had protectively gripped Laurent’s forearm. “Forgive me."

* * *

The swift schooling Laurent had to do to his face would have been impressive if he knew he’d not been caught with his guard down. Already, he was ready to dismiss anything Fynn might assume of his expression, already he was ready to deflect whatever accusations might come his way—

But Fynn merely complimented him.

Damen told Laurent those same words so frequently, and from someone he trusted and admired, they were sometimes the best he could hear. He felt a similar sensation when Fynn said it, and he wasn’t sure if the relief that hit him was because Fynn simply had not begun to question him, or because Fynn truly sounded like he believed what he said.

It didn’t matter, for any warmth he’d felt was gone a moment later when Damen flit back in from the cold...

Laurent caught his eye as he passed, watched him go by, unaffected. He wouldn’t give Damen the satisfaction of his anger, of his hurt. The wall was still up, and Laurent was stationed strongly behind it.

“He is not so fearsome,” Laurent murmured when Damen was out of sight. He’d watched Fynn’s colour drain just enough from his face that Laurent worried he might fall to his knees. Even now, Laurent could not have that. He needed to maintain a semblance of equality amongst the three of them, if Laurent would get the outcome he desired from all this work. “He is a puppy at heart.”

Not a second later, Laurent had made a decision.

“Have the horses readied,” he told Fynn, glancing to where Damen had passed through. They would leave ahead of the caravan, and Laurent could be back to the place before Damen, could be waiting in the apartments for /him/. They would go ahead, beat the weather Damen so feared, and then perhaps, when Laurent was in his bed clothes, safe and warm in his room, Damen would come to and realise how foolish he had been earlier.

* * *

Fynn thought Damen looked quite fearsome and nothing like a puppy. The man had killed Auguste—the best swordsman Fynn had ever seen—as a man hardly sixteen. He had undoubtedly tricked his way into the victory or preyed on Auguste’s exhaustion somehow, because there was no way that he had won fairly.

“If that man is a puppy, I hate to see whom you consider a dog,” Fynn chuckled. He followed Laurent’s gaze to where Damianos had disappeared. He did feel a twinge of guilt for already being successful in his plans, especially when Laurent was trying his hardest not to seem hurt.

He nodded at Laurent’s order. “At once, Your Majesty. I’ll have my men on it right away.” He hesitated to leave, but then turned away to gather his men. He would have Bavar looking better than when Laurent had first seen him, and they would have extra furs for the journey.

Fynn wasn’t exactly nervous about the weather, but he was concerned about the potential for heavy snow blocking their vision. It was easy to get lost, especially in a small party.

He told his men, then added: “And I would like four rations of food added to my saddlebag, and lanterns for our horses."

* * *

Laurent made himself scarce in his few minutes left of his stay at the party, mostly standing off in a corner and accepting little treats from passing trays.

He did make sure to find Jord, let him know Laurent would be on his way back to the palace, without him. Jord didn’t like it, but he knew the unlikeness of bandits, as truly, the weather did not look so bad to him. Not yet, anyway.

“I implore you to ride straight on,” Jord spoke from the tiny position of power he had in Laurent’s life. “I’ve no doubt that horse is fast, but I would not dally.” Laurent could respect that at least. “Lucien?” Jord called, and the boy was there not a moment later, bowing before Laurent. “Gather your first. We are leaving.” He explained to Laurent they would ride ahead, have the guard set for him back at the palace.

After Jord, Laurent thought about going to Damen, but he decided against it, not willing to go at something so foolish again. He would see Damen when he returned to the palace, and they would speak again when Laurent had the means to uphold his part of the argument.

And then perhaps, Laurent would explain himself, the way he’d reacted. He would explain it once he’d had fresh air, once he’d had a few moments of peace to reason with it. He had not liked the idea of Damen trying to take control of this. He still didn’t like it.

With his cloak pinned around him, he headed to the courtyard, confirming once and for all the weather here was not all that bad as he waited to see just how this new horse rode.

* * *

Fynn met Laurent in the courtyard, eager to get moving. Bavar stood at his side, ears flicking forward when Laurent entered. Fynn’s mare, a dark bay named Eleonor. She was several hands taller than Bavar—a simply massive horse built for the long journey from Kempt to Vere in the cold and wind. Feathered hair around her feet protected her from brambles and thorns, and her long, wavy mane helped protect her from cold. She was all black, with twice the muscle of Bavar, making her suitable for long days of heavy work and riding.

“Eleonor will be able to keep up in snow, but not on the flat,” Fynn said. “I will not be foolish enough to race her against you.”

The wind whistled ominously over the walls of the home, and Fynn found himself wishing he could keep a closer eye on Laurent somehow. But he knew better than to start an argument.

“Best to move quickly. Your guard has moved out, we should not let them get too far ahead.”

He offered Laurent the reins to his new horse and smiled wide.

“Stay close, Laurent. Bavar is a much faster steed, but I will not lose you in the snow."

* * *

Laurent had yet to see Fynn’s horse on this trip and, even next to Bavar, she was /imposing/. She was...huge. ‘If Damen had ever been a horse, that would be it,’ Laurent found himself thinking. He was happy to know she would not overpower his own horse in a race, but she was quite the sight.

But then there was Bavar, who Laurent instantly lit up upon seeing again. He was not Ven, and he would never be Ven, but Bavar was a fantastic creature, and Laurent could not wait to feel that power. The only thing that would keep him from racing Eleonor was that Bavar was so new to him. They still needed to bond, after all.

Mounting Bavar was not an easy task at his height, but he only shifted slightly under his new rider. The saddle he’d been tacked with lacked the bells and pomp from earlier, and Laurent wondered what leather /it/ had been made from. Kemp had so many fine resources, so many practical ones.

Laurent was...very high up.

He gripped the reins a little harder.

He was confident in his riding skills, even on a new horse, even this high up, but he had to admit this was a new feeling. Ven was lithe, she was agile. She made Laurent feel proper, distinguished. But Bavar made him feel /powerful/, and...tall. He wondered if this was his Damen felt like every day

It would explain his thick-headedness.

“You think I have no sense of self-preservation?” Laurent asked, just before tapping Bavar twice with his heels. It took him everything not to dig in and take off, but he was /behaving/.

* * *

Fynn held Bavar as Laurent mounted, smiling up at him. He looked truly regal on such a beautiful horse, Bavar’s dark beauty only furthered Laurent’s golden kind. The snow reflected on his golden hair and fair skin and Fynn couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if Laurent leaned down and kissed him then. It would have been a perfect moment, alone in the quiet snowfall.

But of course that was getting ahead of himself. Fynn mounted Eleonor with a practiced vault. She tossed her head, eager to get out onto the trail. but he could sense her nervousness too and turned his eyes to the thick clouds above.

“I think you have been gifted the most capable horse in the lands,” Fynn replied with a roll of his eyes, setting Eleonor into a brisk trot beside him.

As soon as they exited the courtyard, wind snarled at them, clawing at Fynn’s cloak. He changed sides so that his and Eleonor’s bodies would block Laurent from the worst of it.

“We will be frozen at this pace,” Fynn said with a grin. This cold was nothing compared to Kemptian winters. “We are due back tonight, yes?” He dug his heels into Eleonor, who shot off at a beautiful canter, a lovely speed for such a night.

“Stay close!"

* * *

Fynn took off on Eleonor, leaving Laurent in the proverbial dust which he did /not/ appreciate. Of course, it was only his competitive side it ticked at, and Laurent saw no issue with just...a little bit of a gallop. Just a short little burst. Bavar was handling well enough.

“Do /not/ buck me,” Laurent told the stallion over the wind, and he dug his heels in hard.

And Bavar took off.

Anyone without the hours Laurent had on a horse would have fallen off immediately. The momentum of the forward motion alone could have unbalanced him and sent him to the ground, but Laurent put his weight where it needed to be, centred and low, and he raised his body as much as he could out of the saddle, but Bavar did not make it easy.

Sure enough, he cleared Fynn and Eleonor in a moment, darted right past them, and then some, until Fynn was lost in the swirl of snow. Even Laurent knew when he’d gone a step too far. He reared back, pulled on Bavar’s reins, tried to look back over his shoulder to get eyes on Fynn. The wind whipped his hair into his face, into his eyes (and he was grateful for that haircut now). The snow was thick in the air, almost blocking the path in front of them.

“Fynn!” Laurent called when he saw him, grinning from ear to ear. The air had been so crisp, the horse so fast! He’d bolted, taken off like an arrow from a bow, and Laurent had clearly enjoyed himself.

* * *

Fynn knew he had no chance of winning any race—and he hadn’t challenged Laurent to one—but it was still hard not to give chase when Laurent and Bavar flew past them so easily. Even Eleonor seemed offended, her ears pinning back as they passed.

And kept going.

Fyn gave Eleonor a little kick to launch her into a gallop, his throat closing when the show turned to a sheet of white in front of them. Even for someone as experienced with such weather ad he and Laurent were, this was a bad storm. The temperature was dropping fast, and the little distance they had put between them and the rook was still too much to try to navigate in a whiteout.

Thankfully, Laurent did appear in view again, but only when Fynn was almost close enough for Eleonor to touch noses with Bavar. Eleonor nickered uneasily beneath him, tossing her head.

Fynn turned in his saddle, digging in his saddlebag for rope. He liked to practice sailing knots when bored on the road, and he was glad for the hobby now.

“Hold onto this!” he called over the wind, offering the rope. The snow and wind turned fiercer, ripping at Fynn’s winter clothing like he had walked out wearing an Akielon chiton.

This was not a good idea.

“It’s a whiteout!” Fynn called. He looked at Bavar, frowning. He was confident in his horse, but Bavar was not used to this brutal of a storm. “We need to find shelter. You should tie Bavar to Eleonor and move to my saddle—he is not trained for this weather, and I would not like to see you lost to this storm, Laurent!"

* * *

Laurent didn’t see the problem until he couldn’t see...anything. It side-swept them from nowhere, wiping the exhilarated smile from Laurent’s face—

But only for a moment.

He couldn’t help but laugh as he caught the rope, fumbled with it for only a moment before it was in his hand. This might as well have happened to him now. This might as well have been his reality. He’d told Damen they’d be fine, told him the weather was not bad at all, that it was just his Akielon sensibilities. Laurent had not expected a sudden squall, had thought the mountain trees were too dense to allow it, yet here he was.

How exciting.

Damen was going to kill him.

“Where do you suppose we will find shelter out here?” Laurent called back, shifting in his saddle to climb over onto Eleonor’s back with Fynn. His cloak caught the wind and nearly ripped him right back, but he managed to catch himself on the lead he’d just tied to Bavar, just barely catching himself from falling between the two horses.

He wrapped his arms around Fynn’s middle, ducked his head from the next blustering gust of snow that tore around them, before trying to squint through the heavy snow. He could not even confidently speak to where they were.

“There are hunting shacks littering this forest,” Laurent called over the wind, having to yell though Fynn was right in front of him. “If you can find one, I’ll be impressed!”

* * *

Fynn wasn’t having quite the enjoyable time that Laurent was. He knew Vere well, and thankfully any direction they went would lead them into the woods where they could find some safety, but if he lost Bavar or Laurent, he doubted he would find them again. The storm hadn’t seemed so bad just moments before, but now he saw it far too unsafe to travel in. He only hoped that Laurent’s guard had managed to find a way to safety before it hit. Whiteouts were spotty too—there was a chance the guards were just facing harsh wind and nothing more.

It was a difficult thing to change saddled during weather, but Laurent was a skilled horseman and both horses very well trained. Bavar stood still, Eleonor too, until Laurent was safely behind him.

“Do not let go!” Fynn called back. He nudged Eleonor forward and she took off at a trot, Bavar prancing along behind, eager to move faster. Fynn kept one hand on the reins and the other clasped over Laurent’s gloved wrists, just to make sure he was still there. Aside from their current position, Fynn was at least prepared to bed down for the night once they found shelter.

Soon it became impossible to see anything ahead of them. Fynn kept pressing forward, trusting his horse to keep her path straight. He didn’t allow himself to show fear or worry—he was used to leading men during sea storms.

Even so, he tightened his grip around Laurent’s wrist.

Time began to stretch and thin, and Fynn wasn’t sure how long they had been moving when suddenly the wind stopped. He lowered his arm where he had given up on holding the reins and instead shielded his face. Show still blew fiercely all around, but something was blocking it from their right.

A shack.

“Impressed?” Fynn asked, though he could hardly hear his own voice through his shivering. “There are furs in our saddle bags. Take them inside, I’ll manage the horses.”

He wasted no time in dismounting and turned to help lift Laurent down.

“Trust me,” he said. “I have seen many an ankle twisted trying to jump from her."

* * *

So it had gotten a little cold, and the weather had gone a bit treacherous. Laurent /might/ have been having the time of his life all the same. Yes, he was beginning to freeze, and he was not so sure he had not gone wind burnt already, but it was still kind of fun.

Right up until it wasn’t.

Laurent’s body was starting to lock up with shivers, and he could feel Fynn’s doing so from their close proximity. The cloaks were helping, but they’re clothes were starting to soak through with snow. Riding leathers would have been better for this, but Laurent was in court clothing. He would count that as his only mistake so far this night.

But he kept his eyes out when he could. Fynn was taller than him, so he had no say to the front of them, but he looked around on their sides, behind them, trying to spot anything with his own hunting eyes.

Fynn beat him to it.

He was quite certain Fynn had just said something witty, but he couldn’t hear him over the wind, not until he risked taking his eyes off the shack to turn a little more towards Laurent.

Oh, Damen was going to murder the both of them.

He allowed himself to be lifted down from the horse, only because he did not trust his legs when he was shivering so. His breath was coming out in short little puffs that only made seeing more difficult, and he was quite ready to get inside. He was Veretian and used to the cold, but this had become just a bit intense, this weather.

Despite the cold and his protesting limbs, Laurent managed to gather the furs and get them into the shack. These shacks, of course, were not made for men of any nobility, but neither were many of the places Laurent used to hide out in when he wanted a little adventure.

He rushed around, closing windows that the wind had blown open, locking them up, and then moved to the hearth, which was absolutely soaked and useless to them now. That did not bode well, but it was not as if they could go out there and find another.

Laurent cursed under his breath, taking his hand away from the wet logs and wiping them right down his front, eyes searching this place for /anything/ that might not make him look as reckless as Damen had supposed him to be.

* * *

Fynn wrestled with his frozen fingers and tied a rope to one of the posts in front of the shack, then wandered out along the side with the horses and tied them together away from the wind. Untacking them was difficult, but he was well practiced and the saddle pads would provide some warmth. The horses would need to keep themselves warm—something he was confident they could both do now that they were out of the wind.

He held onto the rope to find his way back to the shack, just in time to see Laurent wipe slime from his hands onto his jacket.

“Must you ruin such a beautiful jacket?” Fynn greeted, wiping the snow from his shoulders. His hat had been lost in the storm at some point, and he was sure his hair looked very unkempt and not at all royal. Probably how Laurent remembered him.

He began unpacking the furs once he had set down the saddles to serve as their pillows as men did in the field.

“Remove your outer clothing,” Fynn instructed, beginning at his jacket’s buttons. “We’ll put them underneath the bed furs so they dry out and stay warm.” He sifted through the furs and set aside the caribou pelts, then found the pelts he’d been searching for. “Opossum,” he explained. “I always keep this in my saddlebag. It repels water. Very warm too.” He offered it to Laurent.

“I’ll be fine with the other furs, you use this one. It will take some time, but you’ll be very warm very soon."

* * *

“You are used to being stranded in inclement weather,” Laurent murmured as Fynn began letting out orders so comfortably, with an authority Laurent did not mind. He knew how to handle himself in such a time, but he also usually prepared for screw ups such as this. Perhaps he had been to rash in making this decision.

“There will be a search party when the squall clears,” he added as he flexed his fingers, tried to get the blood back to them so he could begin with his lacings. The frozen clothing certainly wasn’t helping, but his underclothes should still be mostly dry. He just needed to get to them.

The lacings proved problematic, but with a little assistance, Laurent managed to untie them, shedding his jacket and it’s sleeved until he was only in his loose tunic that, without his pants, hung down to his thighs. He discarded his trousers next, placing them all under the furs as Fynn instructed. It was something Laurent would not have thought to do. In fact, he thought nothing of it, just wanted to get under the new fur to get his frozen limbs warmed.

* * *

Fynn helped Laurent where he could, but his hands were pretty much useless with the lacings. He was worried—Laurent was not fit for being in such weather, even with furs. Without a fire, they were in danger of freezing if they didn’t warm up soon. Bavar would fit through the door, but he doubted Eleonor would, and if one of their horses became injured they would have no way to get home. They were better off outside.

His clothes were a bit easier to get off, and he had long stockings underneath that looked a bit foolish, but were woolen and very warm. He laid his clothes under the furs and chuckled at Laurent’s comment.

“I was not raised in any proximity to the throne. In Kempt, dukes have to do much more than handle court,” he explained. It was still too cold.

He buried himself in the furs and draped them over the saddles to make a sort of tent over their heads with a few larger pelts.

“I will not force anything upon you,” Fynn said through chattering teeth, “but I do think that we will warm faster if…well, if we were closer together. I worry you are not warm enough."

* * *

Laurent didn’t see an issue in it.

He didn’t. He really didn’t.

Yes, if Damen found out, Laurent knew he would not understand, but it was utilitarian and they were childhood friends. This would not be the first time Laurent had fallen asleep around Fynn. It may be the closest he’d ever done so, but there was a very real chance that they may be much worse off if they did not.

So Laurent nodded and moved in, his shivering body moving in against Fynn’s without a second thought to it. It would work, under their little saddle and pelt tent, close together. It would be the best chance they had, and honestly, Laurent knew it would be a good chance. He had suffered and survived much worse.

Fynn wasn’t much warmer than he was, but they would get there. Laurent ducked his head between them, as if to breathe what warmth he had and trap it between their bodies...while also snapping up most of what little warmth Fynn had.

“You thought I was f-foolish enough to not ch-chase body heat?” Laurent asked, teeth chattering. “Is /surviving/ considered discourteous in Kempt?”

* * *

Fynn had expected more hesitance from a man who had referred to himself as prude. Instead Laurent moved right up to him, and Fynn found it hard to keep from touching him. He put his arms around him, this time pulling Laurent in closer still with no wind to tear him away. But he was still cold, and they weren’t out of danger yet.

“You did say you were prude,” Fynn argued. “I didn’t want you cold and uncomfortable.” He was shivering, but schooled himself not to let his teeth chatter. He wanted to be strong for Laurent, so he didn’t feel fear. Right now, it seemed like he was too inexperienced to know just how dangerous it was not to have a fire with only furs for cover.

“I’ve never known a Veretian to get cold,” he teased. He rubbed Laurent’s back, trying to warm him any way he could. “Can you still feel your fingers and toes? Any numbness?”

He wished he had more to cover Laurent’s legs with.

“Would you like my stockings?” Fynn asked. “My legs are warm enough."

* * *

“I suppose I missed the eroticism in huddling for warmth,” Laurent murmured, not at all feeling that this was inappropriate. It was this or actually freezing to death, and Laurent didn’t think anyone would want that for him over a bit of huddling. This was necessary, this was basic survival. He didn’t see any harm.

“I can still feel all my extremities.” For the most part. He definitely could feel the pain of cold in his toes and his fingers, so he supposed they were still functioning properly and would not require amputation at the end of this. He just brought his legs up a little closer to himself, flexed his toes to make sure that remained the case.

The wind however outside, and Laurent wondered what it would have sounded like in his room, so high up, where the wind only seemed to be all the worse.

He supposed Damen would know when he returned to wait for Laurent.

Laurent couldn’t help but groan.

“I suppose I should let the cold kill me,” he chuckled, shaking his head and cursing quietly as another wracking of shivers took him. “Damianos will kill me when he sees me next.”

* * *

Fynn had to let out a little laugh as Laurent addressed his main issue with the matter with such nonchalance. He tried to keep his hand moving over Laurent’s back, both to keep him warm and to make sure he wouldn’t be seen as lingering.

“That’s good. If you can’t feel them, tell me. Fingers and toes are first to freeze.” He wished Laurent had worn thicker socks. He was such a royal—a warm carriage to ride in made a man forget the true temperatures outside.

He thought of Damianos as Laurent groaned and tried not to feel guilty. It was clear Damianos had thought he was going home with Laurent, and they had left him without saying goodbye. Though he knew the Akielon king probably would not have given him the courtesy either, there had to be a way to respect him better—though Fynn wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt the Princekiller deserved any.

“For going out in the cold or for surviving the night with me?” Fynn asked with a wry smile. He could only imagine what visions Damianos would conjure once he found out they had survived together without guard.

“Put your back to my chest,” Fynn offered. “Not to be crass, but the more of your skin against mine, the warmer you will be."

* * *

“Both reasons,” Laurent muttered as he turned in Fynn’s hold, pressing his back to Fynn’s front. This was, admittedly, a bit more intimate should outside eyes see, but Laurent felt no guilt for it. He and Damen did not even sleep in this position frequently. They usually faced each other, their hands joined, their legs intertwined. This was, again, merely necessary.

“And I am certain he will find a few more,” Laurent continued on the subject of his betrothed, just before a shiver shot through him again. He brought his shoulders up, huddled in as he pushed back more flush against Fynn, and he brought his hands together to make sure all of his fingers were still felt, still working.

So far, so good.

“We’ve no chance of perishing out here, yes?” Laurent asked, and though he meant it as a joke, his fingers did toy mindlessly with the golden cuff at his wrist. “I would truly hate to not give Damianos the right to kill me as well after this.”

It was a joke that would have been better suited in different company, but once he’d said it, Laurent knew that he was actually in the absolute /worst/ company to say a thing such as that. He made similar comments all the time - a coping mechanism for the most implausible wall that had come down between himself and Damen.

“I am—“ Laurent started, as quick to act as he needed to be like always, “I’m afraid I am well-versed in many types of survival, but this is...quite new. I am uncertain of the level of danger we are actually in right now.”

* * *

Laurent only seemed to be getting colder, and Fynn was doing whatever he could to keep him warm. It would take time, but their little tent was already a bit warmer, and he had to trust the process. He wouldn’t lose Laurent, not this close to home, not because of something so preventable as cold.

And his joke did not go over well with Fynn, nor did the sight of a slave’s cuff on Laurent’s arm. He hadn’t noticed it before in all of the hurrying, but it was impossible to miss it now. It was such a bulky piece of jewelry, only useful for slaves.

Damianos. Fynn had seen one on his arm too.

But Fynn couldn’t say anything to that when Laurent was…more or less admitting to worry. Auguste always did something similar, but even though Fynn couldn’t see Laurent in the dark, he knew he probably looked very…cute.

“What kind of suitor would I be if I let you die in a snowstorm? Damianos would have every right to kill me then.” Fynn once again wished he had more blankets to put over Laurent. “You say he is a good man, but you are cuffed like a slave, he bruises you, and you fear him harming you for getting caught out in a storm? I know you said it in jest, but I also know you already fought today and he did not see you off, so I assume you did not tell him you were leaving.”

He gently touched Laurent’s arm. “If he attempts to punish you in any way—even so much as a scathing comment—I will challenge him."

* * *

Damianos would kill Fynn, too. If Laurent died, Damen would have Fynn’s head. Any ‘challenge me would be tunnelled through without hesitation. Fynn did not recognise how strong Damen truly was, how powerful, and how protective he was.

But it was just that. Damen was /protective/. Laurent did not and had never actually /fear/ Damen. He simply disliked the idea of Damen having something over him such as this. It all /could/ have gone according to plan, had it not been for the whiteout, and Laurent would have been back at the palace, only sharing a glance with Damen that would rid him of the need to say ‘I told you so.’

Now, Laurent had put himself in the wrong, and he needed to find a way out of it.

And he would need to start with defending Damen /again/.

Laurent almost stated that he cuffed himself like this, but technically, that had been Damen’s display of cunning.

“I wear this because of what /I/ did to /him/,” Laurent responded softly, and though he had addressed this many times before, had done it publicly at that, he hated the idea that he had to say it to Fynn. But he needed that cleared up. He needed all of this cleared up, especially if this three-way union would work for their countries.

“Damianos will never harm me, Fynn, and he will not harm you. Focus your energies elsewhere.”

* * *

Fynn had seen the edges of Damianos’s lash marks creeping up his neck. He thought Laurent should be proud of them, but he realized that it must have taken some kind of spell for Damianos to come back from being torn apart so mercilessly to claiming to love the man currently nestled against him.

“Where would you like me to focus them?” Fynn asked, daring to run his thumb over Laurent’s jaw. “Not on you, surely.”

But he dropped talk of Damianos. Mostly because he didn’t care to bring him up anymore, but also because he would much rather talk about Laurent.

“If after this night you could start life anew, do anything you wanted and be anyone you wish, who would you be?” Fynn asked, both to hear more and to distract him from thinking about the growing storm outside. He feared the horses would not make it and they would be stranded in the next storm—this time without shelter.

“Forget this competition, forget me and Damianos. Where would you go?"

* * *

Laurent would not have delved any deeper into his past with Damen even if he’d been asked to do so. It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk about it - it was simply that he did not want to. The physical was easy enough to be seen and deduced. The rest was not his time share with someone who would probably support his actions.

And even if he’d wanted to, Fynn’s thumb on his jaw hushed him, soothed him and quieted him.

The following change in subject was greatly appreciated. It was a conversation he and Damen had sort of had before, though Laurent had been drunk in foul wine and over sharing at the time. Even now, it pulled a chuckle out of him.

“I would be a pet,” Laurent responded dryly, presenting it as a joke, for though it was true at some moments of his life, he would not say that was his definitive answer. No, that certainly wasn’t it. His answer was simple: Sicyan with Damen, to their palace by the sea. It was that simple.

But he could not give that answer to Fynn. That was one way to ruin this game before it even truly was able to begin.

“I would go to Kempt,” Laurent responded thoughtfully. “I would go to Kempt, as myself, and I would meet my family there. And have /many/ words with them about their abandonment of Vere.” It perhaps was not a romantic gesture or even a fantastical one, but Laurent had shown himself a king in front of Fynn now, and he wanted to keep up a sort of professionalism. He had a lot to prove as a young king, after all, and this was...not his best work, being where he was now.

* * *

Fynn fought not to roll his eyes, but he did laugh. “Kempt? Out of all places you would go to my home. And I am not supposed to believe that is because I am courting you and I’ve asked?” He didn’t think Laurent had ever been to Kempt. It made the Vaskian mountains look ugly by comparison, and they were building things no other kingdom could replicate.

Fynn did love his home, but he loved the sea too. Had Laurent not presented himself as a potential husband, he would be fine taking to the sea most of the year as a ship’s captain.

“I would be happy to show you, one day. Though I will say your family lives up to the…more distant parts of your persona as king. And they truly are prude. It is rumored that their prudishness is what creates such beautiful daughters—no muddying any lines.” Kempt’s princesses were the best kind to have.

The wind snarled against the outside walls, and Fynn curled more protectively around Laurent. It was going to be a very long night.

“My sister has two children now,” he murmured. “I love them both dearly, but I don’t plan to sire any children. Though I would seed one of those Akielon Veretians Mathe brought out, only to save you from the task.” He laughed. “I at least know I can do that if necessary."

* * *

“Believe what you’d like,” Laurent chuckled through another shiver, “I am not here to preach to you.”

The air within the little blanket fort was getting thicker, a little warmer, but Laurent was starting to feel a bit more suffocated than he would have liked. He could not help but reach forward and lift a corner just enough to let a little bit of air in, to breathe a little easier as Fynn curled in closer around him.

“The inbreeding will catch up to them,” Laurent murmured as he dropped down the corner of the blankets. He flexed his toes, just to make sure they were still moving and, sure enough, he was still alright in that front.

He pulled Fynn a little closer all the same, listening to him speak of his sister - whom Auguste had almost courted once. It had been years since Laurent had even /thought/ of her. He’d only met her once, and he knew for a fact Auguste had /never/ slept with her. He distinctly remembered Fynn being /very/ against it. Or...he thought that’s what he remembered. That had been so long ago.

“Vere wants an heir, as any kingdom would,” Laurent expanded on Fynn’s comment with. He didn’t know why, but he was /grateful/ to hear Fynn did not want children. He, of course, was not as obligated to do so as Laurent was, but still, it was nice to hear Fynn thought /further/ like him when it came to fucking, when it came to /children/. “My uncle had this.../boy/, and I thought to maybe help raise him, but—“ Laurent shook his head. “I shipped him off to Akielos with Damen. There’s no time or place for children in Vere.” Not even one of his own. Or Damen’s own. Or Fynn’s own.

* * *

“I would think Akielos wants an heir more than Vere does. They have not had a Regent in history, and I doubt Damianos would like to go to the grave leaving Akielos in danger of a squabble,” Fynn said. “Kempt has Erik, our prince and heir, and he will be a decent king. That is the hope anyway.” Fynn was glad he didn’t have to deal with it. His sister’s children could have their father’s estate, he would live by the sea.

“Vere is not an ideal place for children, I agree,” Fynn mused. “But I enjoy Vere. The Vere I grew up in was good for children. I think it can be that again. Veretian people used to look to us as inspiration, I think they would do that again.” Vere had copied many things from Kempt, and Kempt had done likewise.

Laurent would have done well to grow up in Kempt. It wouldn’t have been a terrible idea to summer there as a child, but the King didn’t like his sons to stray far, and Auguste would have been begging to go if Laurent had gone.

“You did well to send him to warm beaches, Laurent,” Fynn said. “I hope I dream of warm beaches tonight.” If he slept. “Perhaps you will be with me, if I’m lucky."

* * *

It seemed a bad time to fill Fynn in on the state of Akielos and the boy who /could/ be king. Kastor’s son, another of Laurent’s problems there in Akielos. He was never meant to end up there. He had saved that child with the hopes Jokaste would go much further away with it, and Damen had gone and had her captured, child in hand.

It wasn’t something Laurent could think about right now.

“You have become a sap over the years,” Laurent teased, eyes straight ahead into the darkness. He was all too aware of the arms around him, the body pressed up against him, Fynn’s body flush to his—

So Laurent turned in his arms to face where he knew Fynn was, touching gently with his fingers to find Fynn’ face. His finger up hit an eyelash, and Laurent moved it, content in knowing just where Fynn was now.

This was a bit more intimate to Laurent, yes, but it felt...safer? This was much more comfortable. It was it as if he would expect Fynn to do anything to him - again this was purely utilitarian - but it felt.../right/ without as many points of contact. At least while all their other senses were down.

Though, it was colder.

“Will the horses be alright?” Laurent asked then, changing the subject from himself, from Akielon, from warm beaches while he still could. “I would so hate to lose Bavar on my first evening.” Laurent was much more worried than he let on of that, actually. He could deal with putting himself in danger, but the horses did not deserve it.

* * *

Fynn adjusted himself slightly when Laurent turned around, fearing that he’d been too intimate. He couldn’t really tell if Laurent was uncomfortable, especially when it was hard to see his face. So he laid still when Laurent’s light touch brushed his face, though his heart did start beating faster. Even in darkness he could feel Laurent’s beauty. He wished it didn’t feel like he was hurting him at the same time.

“I’m not sure,” Fynn confessed. He reached up, resting a gentle hand on Laurent’s neck. “But Eleonor has been through storms just as bad. She knows what to do, she will show Bavar.’

He leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to Laurent’s forehead.

“I could go check on them,” he offered. “If Bavar is unwell, I can find a way to bring him indoors, I think. He will be too cold to protest much.”

He didn’t want Laurent to be worried about a horse when their lives were at risk.

* * *

Laurent didn’t shy away from the little kiss. He didn’t know why he didn’t— well, that was a lie. It was a comfort he was used to, and honestly - and he would never say it aloud - a comfort he craved. It wasn’t romantic. It was just a caring gesture - one Auguste used to give him all the time. That was all.

“You should not risk yourself,” Laurent murmured, though he did not sound so convinced. He felt terrible for the animals, the danger he had put them in. This had been selfish. He could lose too much for this one act.

But he would be lying if he said it was not a /little/ bit exhilarating, just as riding the horses through the storm had been.

But his stomach turned with what danger they could all actually be in.

“You are an old friend,” Laurent started through a shaking jaw, adjusting to the cold he’d let in when he switched positions. “I trust your insight. Have I—“ Laurent stopped, cleared his throat. “—have I acted childishly this night?” Damen had said as much.

* * *

Fynn could tell Laurent wanted him to check on the horses, but at the shaking in his voice, he decided against it. Laurent was still too much at risk. If the horses were going to die, they were probably already dead. He hoped that was not the case. But the risk to Laurent was just as great, and Fynn would not put a horse before him.

“I think we should have left earlier,” Fynn admitted. “But we cannot predict the weather. I would have wanted to be home in my own bed instead of staying at Jeurre’s. His rooms smell like he has doused them in perfume—he likely has.”

He rested his forehead against Laurent’s. It was too intimate, he knew, but he couldn’t stand Laurent being so cold and not being able to help.

“If I had thought we would end up like this, I would not have let you go. I feel foolish for allowing us to get stuck like this without a plan. I brought extra furs and dried meat, and I told the—“

He stopped abruptly, remembering what he had told his men.

“You are a genius, Laurent,” Fynn said with a grin. “Stay here.”

He carefully lowered the pelts between them to keep Laurent covered before he slipped form the safety of the furs. The cabin was freezing and pitch dark, but he moved to his saddlebags and began digging around until he felt the cool metal of what he had been looking for. The lanterns. They were compact and built for travel, but they were full of oil to burn. With enough oil on the wood Laurent had found in the hearth, they could probably have a fire for a few hours, which would be enough time to warm their wet clothes so they could be worn to sleep.

“Laurent,” he called, producing the second lantern from Laurent’s saddlebag. “I’ll need your help—we’re going to have a fire in the hearth."


	8. Part I: The Fall (28.6.2020)

The first sign of a fire and Laurent stood back, as if his breath were stronger than the wind itself and it would kill the flame. His legs were frozen where he stood, but he remained back, remained quiet, remained /impressed/ at what he was watching.

Laurent didn’t know how to make a fire. He didn’t know how to skin a hare if they needed food, didn’t know how to cook even. He didn’t know that Damen did either.

So he truly was impressed.

He moved in only when he was prompted, accepting the fur around his shoulders, his feet towards the fire when his toes threatened to no longer to respond.

“Could Auguste do that?” Laurent asked, bundled and as close to the fire as he could get. “Could he make a fire? If he needed to?”

* * *

Fynn gathered a fur around his own shoulders, huddling next to Laurent as the fire slowly but surely gained traction on the damp logs. They had to sit quite close, but the warmth was there and it was heavenly.

Even more so to have Laurent beside him, and to watch the firelight dance across his face. He was so beautiful.

Fynn laughed at the suggestion that Auguste could light a fire on his own. “No, likely not. I showed him a few times, but why bother learning when I was always around on our adventures?” Fynn’s father was a man of the outdoors, and had insisted Fynn learn such skills. True perfection in learning had once again come on his time on the ships.

“You did well building up the logs,” Fynn praised. “I assume you learned how to do it through observation of fires—something many do not notice, but it is very difficult to get right.”

He spread his hands in front of the fire, his fingers shaking madly, but warming. Things felt safer now. They could warm up and once they had their clothes on again, things would be easier. A few less hours of darkness to endure.

* * *

Laurent might have preened at the compliment, but he didn’t show it. He wondered if Auguste would have ever paid close enough attention to stack logs in the proper formation. It was nice to know that he was no less equipped than his brother had been.

“My Captain of the guard used to be a drunkard who made the worst fires you could imagine. I merely noticed what he fixed,” Laurent said, downplaying the compliment as if it were no big deal to him. He was so good at that.

He curled his toes against the heat, glancing over to see how Fynn was holding up. He had grown quite handsome, angular in a way Laurent would never be. Laurent would have thought more on that had it not been for Fynn’s trembling hands catching his eyes.

“Oh, come here,” Laurent ordered, teaching out and clasping Fynn’s hands in his own, bringing them to his mouth to blow warm air onto them as he could. He held both their hands by the fire then, monitoring as Fynn’s fingers warmed, making sure they stayed that way.

Laurent was a bit more comfortable now that they had a fire, now that things did not feel so dire. They would make it with this, and perhaps - if the snow let up - the smoke from the crude chimney would alert proper guards to their placement.

“I do suppose I will have to sing your praises when we are reunited with my guards,” Laurent joked in the quiet, just before the wind began to whistle against the shack again. “Otherwise there may be a decree to have you hanged for this.” As if it had not been Laurent’s idea.

* * *

Fynn couldn’t help but make a noise of surprise when Laurent took his hands and exhaled on them. It was something kings did not do—and Fynn hardly deserved it. He had lit a fire and that was all. If setting up a hearth was the key to Laurent’s affections, he would have set teh palace ablaze on accident in his haste.

“No, I was the one who asked that you go off-course. I all but shepherded you into a race and that was when we were caught in the whiteout. For all we know, the path was clear.” He didn’t fear for his life, but if Laurent died, that would be another story. Damianos would torture him to death, he was sure.

“But knowing you would like to sing my praises warms me greatly,” Fynn said with a chuckle. “Even if only in jest.”

He looked down at their hands and didn’t move his fingers, fearful that Laurent might pull away.

“At any rate, I’m glad we’ve had the chance to spend this time together. I feared tonight would have been my last chance."

* * *

“You thought your courting would go so terribly?” Laurent chuckled around a shiver, his grip tightening on Fynn’s hand in that moment. “Surely you came in with more confidence than that.”

He knew Fynn had. Fynn had touted his advantages of knowing Laurent in his youth, of having been best friends with his brother, of having Auguste’s blessing on this. Fynn had come stacked and ready to n it only court, but to /win/ Laurent. Laurent had known Damen for some time now, knew gross overconfidence when he saw it.

“So, perhaps, you saw troubles then with /me/?” Laurent pressed, brow raised in question for as long as he could control such a muscle. The cold was melting out of him, but the wind at his back was persistent. Clothing would help when it was dry. Perhaps sleep as well, if that was even an option now.

He wondered if Damen had realised yet, wondered what was happening in the palace.

“I am notoriously difficult to—“ Love. He was difficult to love, as he’d always been told. But this was not the climate, not the time, and Laurent did not even /desire/ to get into that. So he settled with, “-work with.”

* * *

Fynn smiled, but kept his gaze lowered. In truth, he had not expected this to be so difficult. He had expected Laurent to want an excuse to be away from Damianos, as most did who were forced into a union. He thought he would be able to convince Laurent to see reason, to somehow protect him from an abusive king.

While he wasn’t sure about Damianos’ abuse, Laurent did seem to care for him.

“Work with?” Fynn laughed. “Maybe for those who don’t know you. You can be nasty with me all you want, but I will always see you as the unyielding younger brother who cared for Auguste so much that you were even able to distract him from being an idiot—from time to time, that is.”

Auguste had loved Laurent, and Fynn wasn’t sure what he would think about him now. He would probably be proud, but angry with himself that sweet Laurent had to become to cold to survive.

“I did not expect you to defend Damianos so valiantly,” Fynn admitted. “Nor to care for him as you so obviously do. I hoped to secure such an…attachment from you. And I do mean it when I say I want to court you, but I admit I feel guilt in trying to change your mind."

* * *

Laurent wish he’d felt relief in what Fynn had said, in his confession about seeing past what Laurent had built up.

It should have been sweet, something Laurent should have desired to hear. It meant someone /knew/ him, someone /saw/ him. But Laurent had done so much work to /grow/ from weaknesses that Fynn might still see, night use against him. Yes, Laurent had cared unconditionally for his brother, but he was not that child anymore. He was kor so easily swayed as he had been then. Not by /anyone/. He was in control of his own life now, and no one had a say in it. Only him. He could not allow himself to be manipulated ever again.

He shook off the residual discontent with a shiver, tried to quiet his mind when Fynn started again.

And then there was the matter of courting again, and what could Laurent say to that?

He /did/ so obviously care for Damen, even when he was going expressly against Damen’s will. Fynn /was/ working to change his mind, but Laurent had given him the right to. He couldn’t let him feel guilty over that.

“My mind cannot be changed by anyone but myself,” Laurent murmured, chin on his drawn up knee, eyes closed against the light of the fire. “If I were so easily swayed, this courting never would have happened.” He managed a small smile because he knew it was true. “But I will make the right choice for Vere when this is over. Do not put that guilt on yourself.”

* * *

It seemed he couldn’t say anything that made Laurent smile. Most men loved to talk about themselves, but Laurent seemed to loathe it. He wanted to be unknowable. Perhaps Damianos was blissfully ignorant of Laurent’s true self, and perhaps that was why Laurent cared for him—Damianos didn’t bother to ask.  
  
“I think the storm has made me pessimistic,” Fynn chuckled. “Perhaps I should stop talking until the sun returns.”  
  
He did move closer though, and gently freed his hands from Laurent’s grip to adjust his furs. He needed to warm up.  
  
“Try to sleep,” Fynn offered. “Get good rest, I’ll tend the fire. You’ll need your strength when it dies out—do not worry about me, I have been through much worse.” He motioned for Laurent to lay in front of the fire. “Please, rest."

* * *

The storm.

Laurent knew when he had been the one to affect the mood, and for that, he did feel guilt. He had not meant to be unkind.

So he attempted to amend his transgression.

Perhaps it was foolish, but he could not lose out on Fynn so quickly, could not having him be pessimistic. He needed Fynn to believe in this, to have hope in this.

So Laurent pressed his lips chastely to Fynn’s temple - just a return of affection for the forehead kiss from earlier. It was nothing. Just like the little reassuring kisses his mother would give him. That was all it was.

“Don’t freeze,” Laurent ordered softly.

* * *

Fynn hadn’t expected the kiss, and it froze him. It didn’t make sense that Laurent would even want to kiss him after what he had said. He had figured Laurent would welcome the chance to end conversation and go to sleep, back to Damianos.

Unless this was a signal.

Fynn was still, then slightly turned his head, his breath gliding over Laurent’s neck. He hadn’t imagined kissing Laurent very often. His thoughts of a future with Laurent didn’t really revolve around physical things, he just thought of the feeling of warmth and comfort, the safety of knowing someone so wholly.

He had kissed many people in his life, but none was more important to him than Laurent. He supposed if they died here, he could go to his grave with one kiss.

Moving with the same gentle confident he used with his most skittish yearlings, Fynn pressed his lips to Laurent’s. It was soft, exploratory, and small.

He wanted to speak, but feared it would remove the possibility for more kisses, so instead he opened his eyes, trying to see if he’d done wrong.

* * *

He’d not anticipated it. He supposed he /should/ have known better, should have been better at being a /human/ and read the body language, but he simply hadn’t. He hadn’t! And now Fynn’s lips were on his and he had to /not/ yank himself away and ruin this all at once.

Laurent’s mind worked faster than his body, and he managed to pull away at an appropriate time, managed to keep his face neutral, his breathing easy.

Fynn had kissed him. He’d just...well, he’d kissed Fynn, hadn’t he? He’d not pulled away and he’d not sat idly still. He’d /participated/ in the kiss and yes, it was in part to the ruse, but Laurent did not do things he did not want to.

And that thought bothered him.

“Forward,” Laurent acknowledged with a smirk, backing off as he could back towards the pelts on the floor. They were close enough to the fire that he would stay warm without Fynn by his side.

And it was best he was not there.

* * *

Fynn fought with himself not to say more. Laurent didn’t go for another kiss as anyone else might. But he sat back, because Laurent had at least returned it. If it was mere politeness, then he didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t, then he had succeeded in at least one step toward winning this competition.

“I couldn’t allow you to think me without confidence,” Fynn said, though he did feel very much without it. He had just kissed a king. Anyone else and he would fear for his life.

Once Laurent had laid down in the furs, Fynn draped more over him as a blanket, but kept his distance. It was good to see Laurent not shivering.

Then he retreated to be closer to the fire, swathing his own pelt over his shoulders.

“Sleep well,” he said cheerfully.

* * *

“I would have held it against you,” Laurent teased on, as if nothing had happened. He laid himself down on his side, let Fynn cover him up, and he closed his eyes, but it was not from the need for sleep.

Laurent did not know if sleep was an option for him now, not when his brain had taken off as it had.

He should have pulled away. He should had said something more, could have very easily played it off! Laurent could have made a thousand jokes to displace the event, but instead, he’d /returned the kiss/.

It was just part of the game. Damen had asked him not to kiss Fynn unless it was in farewell, and— well, it had begun to feel like a farewell! Laurent could /feel/ Fynn had begun to back down, step away, admit defeat, and he couldn’t let him do that yet.

The kiss had been necessary, that was all. He could justify it easily enough.

Certainly.

Definitely.

If Damen asked. It did not seem like the best information to volunteer - it wasn’t a necessary insight. It would only make this more difficult.

* * *

As far as first kisses went, it had been quite nice. Laurent’s lips were soft even after the blistering wind, and his returning of the kiss had been practiced and gentle. Fynn was just as aware that they had crossed a line, but he savored that. Damian is did not have to know yet, and kisses in secret were sweeter somehow.

Sleep threatened to take him as he watched the fire, but the cold at his back kept him from falling prey to it.

Hours melted away, and so did their warmth. He stoked the fire when he could, but their wood was running out and they had no more oil.

“Laurent,” Fynn said over the screaming wind still fighting against the walls around them. “Change into your warm clothes before the fire goes out. We still have hours until dawn.”

* * *

Laurent’s mind never quieted, but he did manage to relax his body at the very least. He was getting tired, and just lying there did not make it easy to stay awake. If he’d drifted, he didn’t know it and certainly didn’t feel like it, yet when Fynn spoke over the wind, Laurent found himself starting the smallest bit as if he’d forgotten Fynn was there.

His eyes fell upon the fire first when he sat up, and he frowned as he watched the last of the flames fall to embers they would not be able to re-light.

“It was a fine fire while it lasted,” Laurent said quietly as he - regrettably - moved from the blankets to his clothing. It felt like it had gotten /colder/ in the time they had had the fire.

Laurent frowned as he pulled up his trousers, threw his shirt over his head.

“Come lay down under the pelts,” Laurent ordered, “There is nothing left to stoke. It’s foolish to stay there.”

Laurent’s feelings and unrested mind aside, he saw worry in Fynn - worry for their safety. The huddling was innocent - Laurent could say that confidently. They may as well rely on it until the sun rose, gave them some semblance of warmth. Perhaps they could forget that kiss as it fell to the wayside, as danger re-emerged and they had to focus elsewhere.

* * *

Fynn was quick to dress himself, glad for the weight of his velvet to keep him warm. He checked to make sure Laurent was in proper clothing, struck by the urge to care for him. He could still taste his lips, and he hadn’t been sleeping—he’d jumped up as though he had been wide awake lying there.

That meant he still needed rest.

He moved back to the pelts, setting the still-warm saddles up as he had before, preparing the pelt tent for another bout of cold. But at least they were dry now.

He was cautious as he lifted the tent and sidled inside to take his position as he had before. Nestling in close was necessary for survival, and they had just kissed. They could be close.

“Much better,” Fynn said, trying to keep the mood light as the warmth dwindled. It was still much warmer than where they’d started.

He pulled the pelt back over them and curled closer to Laurent and tried not to think about kissing him again. It was very difficult when he could hear his breathing, feel his body heat.

“Are you…” He was whispering, instinctively leaning in though he couldn’t really tell where Laurent was. “Are you warm enough?"

* * *

The addition of body heat on top of dry clothes under the pelts was just enough to make this bearable without the fire in the hearth. Laurent instinctually smiled as Fynn climbed beneath the pelts, and Laurent did so easily find his space against him.

But once the ‘tent’ was closed and darkness enveloped then, once Laurent was reliant on all his out her scents, he instantly felt the thick air around them, tangible tension from Fynn’s body.

And his own.

It was strange for Laurent, to feel this way, but it was also...familiar. It was so, /so/ different from what he felt for Damen - hardly even the same - because it was so familiar. It was something from Laurent’s childhood, something /warm/ and /good/ resurfacing, something that was - otherwise - so uncomplicated.

Laurent just didn’t understand it, and it fascinated him.

He /loved/ Damen -more than words could ever describe - but yes, he still had moments where he had to justify that. /Not/ because of Auguste! Laurent had worked that out a long time ago, had reasoned with it, and no longer held it against Damen, but...Damen was a good man, Laurent knew. And Laurent was /so/ difficult to love. And with the fucking heir issue, the past, Damen’s little mention of control—

Laurent had /no/ idea what he was thinking.

“I am as warm as circumstances will permit,” Laurent replied in a similar whisper, focusing on the /now/ again.

* * *

Fynn wasn’t sure how to do this with Laurent. With anyone else he probably would have bedded them already, because that was usually what happened in situations like this. Except there were no situations like this, because betrothed kings did entertain offers from visiting dukes. Betrothed kings didn’t kiss visiting dukes.

He moved his hand up in the darkness, finding Laurent’s smooth skin. His thumb just glanced Laurent’s cheek, stroking it once. Laurent could have pulled away, he could have demanded Fynn sleep out by the hearth…or at least faced away.

“And what if we change the circumstances?” Fynn asked in a breath, gently brushing noses with him.

He had Laurent as no one ever had. Alone, in solitude. Vulnerable, yes, but also truly him.

“We did it once already with the fire."

* * *

Laurent’s breath absolutely stopped in his throat.

He thought of the tent in Vask, small as it was, he and Damen far too close for comfort back then. Laurent thought back to how he could have changed that moment, and in this charged mindset of his, it was something to hyper focus on: the past.

He thought of the inn, of Soren and Lamen, their nest in the bed their bodies entangled, the exhilaration of the chase of a boar that did not exist, their little act.

He thought of Ravenel, of Marlas, is Sicyan, curled into Damen just like this, in the dark, warm and safe.

He thought of the day he’d fallen from that camel when he was a child, when he had assured everyone over and over that he was /fine/, that he did not need to see Paschal! But Auguste and Fynn had taken him, and while Auguste explained to their father what had happened, Fynn had stayed by his side, laughing at just what a little brat Laurent was being.

He thought of how Fynn had changed, what the man on the other side of the darkness looked like now—

And Laurent closed the space between them.

He didn’t /think/, he just...did. And he could come up with a thousand justifications if he needed to. He could sell this very kiss to anyone—

But he hadn’t /thought/ to do that. He’d just.../kissed/ Fynn, and he was still doing it!

* * *

Even Laurent was human. Fynn had never doubted it, but he was so glad to feel it now. Laurent’s lips on his, warm and wanting. The spark of connection between them finally bursting into flame. He hadn’t thought it possible honestly, because Laurent had clammed up so much since his youth. Fynn doubted he had ever explored things like an enjoyable bout of kissing, an enjoyable pleasuring from someone eager.

He knew Laurent didn’t feel that way about people—Fynn understood better than most—but he was accepting this. Laurent had been the one to close the distance between them and Fynn didn’t want it to stop.

Of course he responded in kind. He invited Laurent’s lips to part, and his arms wound around him, pulling him flush to his chest. It was hard to describe the feeling—nostalgia, warmth, and a deep affection.

He wanted nothing more than this, just Laurent and his mouth, the rest of the world far behind them.

* * *

It felt.../good/. Laurent could not deny that. It was like having a long standing question finally answered, like ice breaking and giving way to warmth. It was comfortable, it was natural, it didn’t feel /wrong/.

So Laurent continued it.

He let himself be pulled against Fynn, and when the offer was given, he let his tongue slip against Fynn’s. He tasted like the wine from the party, like the smoke from the fire. His body fit well against Laurent’s, filling in gaps without overpowering. It felt balanced.

Laurent had never— not with anyone but Damen. He didn’t know he had the /capacity/ to kiss another like this and lose himself in it. It wasn’t like the suitors and courtiers that he played physically. He’d been all to aware of Torveld’s tongue when they’d kissed, had been bored and almost nauseated by it. He’d been /present/ for it all that was for sure, but this was different. Laurent fell into this kiss with Fynn naturally, let his body have /this/ for the first time since—

Damen.

/Damen/.

Laurent pulled back from the kiss, panting slightly, eyes searching the dark as if Fynn might be able to see his face. He’d done it calmly enough that it could be seen as a natural response in needing to breathe, but he could hear his heart in his ears, could feel energy surging throughout his chest, sparking in his arms, his fingers. He was electrified with energy - adrenaline and guilt, respectively.

He shouldn’t have.

* * *

Fynn has expected Laurent to suddenly change his mind, but was thankful he didn’t. Instead they shared sweet kisses in the darkness, and Fynn did feel warm. Laurent was comfortable against him, and he couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together.

He chased Laurent’s lips when he pulled back, then kept himself a breath away, gently nuzzling him to see what was wrong. He knew what was wrong, but Damianos had agreed to the competition. He could not throw complaints now that he wasn’t the obvious victor.

This was even better than Torvald had described it when Fynn had first heard of his visit to Vere.

“You hesitate,” Fynn hummed, pressing a kiss to Laurent’s cheek. He’d meant to find his jaw, but it was very dark.

His hands pressed to Laurent’s chest, smoothing along the thick fabric there.

“I want nothing else but your lips tonight,” Fynn assured him. “You need not worry.”

* * *

“The day has taken its toll on me,” Laurent lied softly, his hands searching in the dark until /he/ found Fynn’s jaw. He thumbed there reassuringly, trying to ease the blow that he had to stop this. He /had/ to. This was not part of the game, and it seemed Laurent needed the time to remind himself that this was all this could be. If he chalked it up to being tired, they could address it later, when he’d had time to think.

“You will have to desire my lips a few hours more.”

There. He just needed to make it sweet, to make it playful, to make it seem like /this/ - whatever this had been - could last.

What would Laurent tell Damen?

/Would/ Laurent fell Damen?

He had to admit, /this/ was never a problem he’d had before, nor one he saw himself ever having. He didn’t know— he thought Damen was the only person who ever would—

“Let me sleep,” Laurent murmured, pulling his hand away from Fynn’s face. “There will be more adventure to face tomorrow.”

* * *

“Hm.” It had been a long day, but Fynn knew that wasn’t all plaguing Laurent’s mind. He let it rest, merely turning his head to press a kiss to Laurent’s wrist. Fynn was tired himself, and the thought of resting seemed wonderful, especially after such warm kisses.

“Sleep well,” Fynn murmured. “And this time you would be wise to actually sleep.” He tightened his hold around Laurent for a moment, then settled his head on the furs to sleep. His body was still warmed with affection, his eyes still heavy with fondness.

Sleep weighed heavily on him, and he finally felt like they might be safe here. Morning would be a brutal one, but it was still far away.

Fynn did press one more kiss to Laurent’s fair skin, simply because tomorrow he wasn’t sure he would be able to have any.

* * *

Laurent nearly argued that he /had/ slept earlier, but he knew better than to add a lie on top of it all now. He merely huffed in play annoyance, not trying to be /too/ standoffish, but this very much was a moment where Laurent would have liked to be left alone for a while. It was a good time to think things over, to reason with what was going on in his head—

But sleep would be the closest he got to it.

Sleep would take the buzzing from his lips, the pounding of his heart, the warmth that had gone frozen in his chest. Sleep would take confusion, guilt, and worry from Laurent so he could feel inwardly they way he looked outwardly - comfortable, confident, and in control.

Luckily, Laurent did finally fall asleep. It was easy to do in the dark, in the warmth of a body he trusted. If he didn’t focus on it, he did not even realise it was about a third of the size of the body that usually held him. He drifted off as if he deserved peace—

And in the morning, he woke and wished he had taken just a bit more advantage of the peace sleep brought.

His whole body was stiff when he woke, sore at his fingertips, his nose, and the tips of his toes. The air under the covers was too thick to properly breathe, and Laurent pulled them back only to find how chilly it still was outside.

He cursed lightly, rubbed his hand over his eyes, tried to flex his fingers a few times, but failed at first. He managed it a moment later, for Laurent would not /allow/ himself to freeze in such a way, but it did hurt.

* * *

Fynn woke stiff as well, his body aching all over from cold. He had hoped they would stay warmer through the night, but it felt as if they had barely avoided the frost. But they were alive and the sun was out. They were clothed too, and had pelts to wear for the ride. It was back to survival mode, back to keeping Laurent safe.

“Here,” Fynn urged, taking Laurent’s hands as Laurent had done the night before. He exhaled on them, rubbed his hands over them to make sure Laurent’s hands got some blood flow. Laurent’s nose was bright red, his fingers too.

They needed to get back.

“Stay here and warm your fingers,” Fynn said. “You can’t expose them yet—do you have gloves? I have a scarf. You’ll need to wear it to protect your nose.” He looked him over, trying not to let his worry show. “I mean it, Laurent. Stay here.”

He pulled himself from the furs and put on his gloves before he slipped out the door.

Without wind it was much more bearable, but the cold was jolting. Snow covered everything—deep snow. It would be dangerous to ride in, but they had no choice. And that was if they even had horses.

“Eleonor!” he called, following the rope he’d tied the night before. It was stuck in snow. Not promising.

That is, until Eleonor’s head appeared from behind the mount, chewing thoughtfully. Bavar’s head poked up just after. He looked much less comfortable, but alive. Fynn grinned and headed back into the shack.

“The horses are alive,” he told Laurent. “I’ll tack them—how are you?"

* * *

Laurent nearly pulled his hands back from Fynn as he took them to warm them, but he collected himself, stayed still and even thanked him after. There was no point in isolating himself /now/. He’d slept on it, and he was in control. Last night was eating at him, admittedly, but Laurent had reason to believe it was just an...adrenaline...survivor thing. Hell, the feelings were practically gone already, much like that feeling of his fingers and toes.

He rubbed his hands together, drew his feet closer to himself and stayed within the pelts while he could. It would be a brutal ride back, but at least they would be moving.

Laurent could not even begin to think of what would be happening when the returned to the palace.

He did not even think he could get a step ahead of how Damen would react.

So he didn’t try. He just focused on doing what he had to do to get himself and Fynn back to safety.

By the time the saddlebags were packed and the horses readied, Laurent could move his fingers again. He managed to get his feet into the stirrups, but he could not honestly say that he could feel his toes.

Bavar was freezing, his mane frigid and stiff when Laurent tried to soothe him, tried to bond with him before the great trek. He felt terrible for having done this to the horses, to Fynn...

To Damen...

“There are hunting markers,” Laurent announced, shouting to be heard over the scarf that covered his face. “They will lead us back to the trail!” And from there, back to the palace. There was no telling how far they actually were or how quickly they would find any markers, but Laurent had to hope it would not take too long.

* * *

Fynn wasn’t sure he would be able to see any hunting markers with the depth of the snow, but he signaled that he had heard. Eleonor was sluggish beneath him, fighting her way through snowbanks to make room for the shorter and slighter Bavar. They were making little progress and Fynn knew this country. He didn’t understand how they had gotten so lost so quickly the night before.

It took a very long time, but they managed to find their way to the trail without the markers. Fynn pressed forward in the snow, noting that there were no tracks. They were still alone.

“Are there any villages this way?” Fynn asked. “It might be best to wait out the cold there and send a messenger until we can recoup.”

Laurent was dangerously close to frostbite, and Fynn wasn’t much better off, especially with the wind picking up.

“It’s getting dangerous for us, Laurent. We aren’t prepared for a journey like this with the snow this high."

* * *

The palace was only an hour or so out - maybe an hour and a half with the speed they were travelling out. They could make it back, he wanted to argue. He couldn’t be gone another day.

How must this look for a king? To go /missing/ in a storm he never should have been in in the first place. He wondered if Mathe was planning a Regency already. There truly was no one set to take the throne from Laurent - aside from Damen, but that wouldn’t just /happen/ without an official decree made by him.

But his being stubborn had put them into predicament in the first place. Laurent had to /think/ better.

He took a moment to get his bearings, looking around to see if he saw /any/ familiar markers about.

“We must be near Belloy,” Laurent said aloud, turning in his spot, still looking about. If Jeurre lived in Varenne, and they’d been heading west towards the palace, then they would hit Belloy first...so long as they had not crossed into Barbin—

Which after about twenty more minutes of riding, Laurent realised that they /had/.

The city of Barbin was just close enough to the palace to think itself elite, and Laurent recognised the structures before he even kicked the snow off the town sign. There was smoke rising from chimneys, signs of life just a few moments later.

They were in a little pocketed village, but Laurent could see stables just a little ways away, and he had to assume those would accompany an inn.

* * *

Fynn had never been so happy to hear of Barbin. He recognized the name, but it had been so long since he had gone anywhere in Vere that he had no idea where it was on a map. Thankfully he was traveling with a king who knew his lands—as many did not. He doubted Damianos had any clue where Barbin was, so he did not feel too excluded.

“A genius, as I said last night,” Fynn praised with a wide grin. The sight of stables was welcome—he wanted to get Laurent into the warmest room they could find to prevent him form getting any colder. Illness was also a possibility they had to avoid.

They forced their way forward until they found a path carved by other horses and Eleonor let out a sigh, lowering her head with exhaustion when she no longer had to push through snow.

A stableboy peeked from the stalls as they approached, but Fynn didn’t let him escape.

“You!” he called, and the boy froze, caught. “Find the highest ranking nobleman of this town. We’re in need or warmth and food immediately, I come with His Majesty.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, looking past Fynn to Laurent, then went wider.

“Hurry!” Fynn demanded. “And your fastest messenger!"

* * *

Laurent wished the arrival had not been so.../loud/. He certainly did not look his best, and he did not like anyone in his kingdom to see him as any less. He practically bristled when Fynn drew attention to him, his chin hiking up a bit too high as he presented himself. Lucky for him, the boy was too skittish to stop and stare for too long.

They were not led to the inn ultimately, but to a finely sized home of the burgomaster of the village. Their horses were stabled in stalls the size of the inn they had left and they were hurried inside. The master of the house was eagerly awaiting their entrance, his wife already working hard in the kitchen for them.

They were bundled by the fire, two attendants piling them with every blanket the home had to offer.

Laurent was shaking despite his attempts to stiffen his body, hold it all in and appear fine.

It was not working in his favour.

“I did not believe the boy when he said it,” the burgomaster greeted warmly when he entered the room, a tray of bread and soup carried behind him by another attendant. The burgomaster was as to be expected of Veretian nobility of any kind, with fine clothes, a dark cropped beard, and skin almost as fair as Laurent’s. His eyebrows were dark, his nose sharp and upturned. “His majesty, here in our little town of Burig.”

Burig, Barbin. They were right on the border of Barbin and Belloy. Arles was just north of here, then.

“And this would be his highness, Damianos of Akielos?” The burgomaster asked, bowing before Fynn, obviously confused by his kings companionship.

* * *

Fynn, for one, was thankful they ere taken into a home and not the inn. Fewer eyes would see Laurent in such a state—something he hadn’t realized would be an issue until Laurent looked so sour. But soon they were warm by a fire, with warm bread and soup.

When called Damianos, Fynn merely smiled and shook his head. “I woul dbe a very strange looking Akielon, I think,” he replied with a nod. “I am Fynn, Herzog of Kempt. Here to visit His Majesty, and once a dear friend to Prince Auguste.”

The burgomaster’s cheeks flushed, but he covered himself well. “My apologies, Your Excellency. We seldom have visitors, much less visitors from Akielos of Kempt.”

“No need to apologize. I am sure you will be meeting King Damianos very soon,” Fynn replied, his focus turned to his soup. He was honestly surprised Damianos had not busted down the door already in his haste to suffocate Laurent with accusations.

Then again, Damen did not have a horse from Kempt, so how could he be expected to arrive anywhere quickly?

“Are you warm enough, Your Majesty?” Fynn asked, doing his best not to adjust the furs around Laurent. He kept thinking of the way his lips felt, how easy it had been. “Damianos may kill me twice over if he finds you cold when he arrives."

* * *

Laurent merely watched the back and forth. He had not been anticipating seeing anyone of his kingdom today, and he was honestly quite embarrassed /to/ be seen like this - especially when he was very much the cause of his appearance. He wanted to wash up, wanted to fix himself, get the red off his cheeks, off his nose, wanted to wash last night off his lips as if Damen might be able to see it.

Damen.

He would be here soon. Laurent had no doubt he would come to retrieve them, and Laurent was so certain he would truly be in for it then.

“My physician—“ The burgomaster started when another man entered the room, led by what was clearly a pet. “We would have him examine just majesty and the Herzog, to make sure there is n frostbite—“

“Unnecessary,” Laurent raised his hand, dismissing the very idea. “Thank you for your hospitality. I am quite warm enough. We will not require any further pleasantries. This is quite enough.”

Laurent was not the same warm person he’d been with Fynn last night, but it had everything to do with being seen like this, being seen unprepared, being seen with a man. This courting was supposed to be contained. Not spread across Barbin.

And there would be speculation as to why the king was with this man, as to why the king was out without guard. He didn’t even think about how dangerous /that/ was on top of everything else.

His head ached.

* * *

Fynn was slightly more diplomatic about sending the others away, but they were far too excited to be hurt by it. He would send them something nice from Kempt once he had taken a proper bath and warmed himself. Laurent hadn’t answered about if he was well or not, which concerned him.

He didn’t try to make conversation as they sat warming by the fire. Fynn spooned up more soup, trying to figure the best way out of this situation.

* * *

Damen had a plan. Nikri had never been pushed as hard or as fast in such treacherous terrain, but he managed it, flanked by Jord and his mount. He had stayed up the night through, pacing Laurent’s bedchamber, waiting as the storm screamed on. Jord spoke of whiteouts, and had arrived alone and freezing without Laurent.

Laurent, who was alive, in a small town just outside Arles.

He knew Laurent would not want fuss, and was likely embarrassed. Damen was beside himself with worry and fear for his health. Surviving a night in such a storm was a feat only Laurent could pull off, but Damen doubted he’d had any fire. And he knew who he had been with, but he wasn’t worried about a Kemptian duke keeping him warm.

“Should you keep this quiet,” Damen instructed the burgomaster, “You will have my personal invitation to our wedding.”

Jord stood at his side, itching to go into the house. Their horses were tied just outside the gates, adorned with plain saddles, Ven among them. Damen was dressed as a Veretian, bundled warmly with furs around his shoulders and fresh clothes for Laurent tucked under his arm.

The burgomaster was speechless, but nodded. Damen handed him a gold coin for the stableboy’s silence, then headed quietly into the house, trying not to shake.

He was led deeper inside to the warmer rooms, and a pet opened the door to a small room that oozed heat. Damen looked inside, spotting Laurent and Fynn’s backs as they pressed close to a fireplace. He nodded to Jord to stand guard, then entered the room, shut the door, and cleared his throat.

He was trying to be a proper king. A Veretian King who didn’t come crashing in or make arguments public at parties.

“I thought Veretians didn’t feel cold,” Damen greeted, clasping his hands behind his back to keep himself from rushing over. “Yet your nose is as red as a pomegranate, and the Herzog of Kempt looks no better."

* * *

Laurent did eat his soup in the time that they waited, even nodded off a few times in an attempt to make up for his lack of sleep last night. Every so often, he would rest his head on Fynn’s shoulder and close his eyes, only to start awake and be upright when someone entered as if he’d never been sleeping at all. His shivering had stopped by the time their most recent guest arrived, and Laurent /felt/ who it was before he even saw him.

Damen had a presence about him - he resonated strength and power, had a tangible /energy/ when he entered a room. It was not like the cold Laurent exuded. It was something much more heart-stopping, something much more breathtaking.

Laurent could see Damen was angry and, more than that, worried when he stepped in. No matter his facade, Laurent could see it in the way his eyes searched over Laurent, over to Fynn. It wasn’t doubt in him, Laurent could tell, though he could not say the same about the way Damen looked at Fynn.

“You are late,” Laurent responded just as causally to Damen, already moving to stand from the covers.

Damen was attempting diplomacy, where Laurent knew he would have loved to storm in here with his sword drawn, ready to absolutely quarter Fynn...and maybe even Laurent himself.

It was honourable and /much/ appreciated.

Laurent wanted nothing more than to talk right into Damen’s arms, wanted to press his head against Damen’s chest and...apologise in a way he was comfortable with. He could tell Damen had not slept well last night, and Laurent had no doubts he was the cause of that.

But that was not an option right now. Not with Fynn just there.

So he gave a little nod of a bow, kept his gaze unwavering from Damen’s. He was fine and he was safe. They both needed to stay calm for now.

* * *

Damen was still shaking with worry, fearing that Laurent wasn’t well. He had told him not to go out in the storm, and he had taken Fynn anyway—to ride a horse! Or so he said. Fynn stood with Laurent and bowed low, but something about the way he stood with Laurent made Damen uncomfortable. More so than it had the night before.

He had at least expected Laurent to come to him, to embrace him after a night trapped in cold, but he didn’t. Damen knew it was because of Fynn and this stupid game that had almost taken Laurent’s life. It made him angry, yes, because his betrothed seemed to care more about what he looked like in the eyes of a duke than to the man he was marrying.

“I had to make sure news of the king wouldn’t travel outside this house,” Damen replied. “I’ve brought Ven, and Jord is waiting outside.” He offered Laurent’s clothes.

“When you are ready, it is time to go home. Paschal is waiting to examine you, and once we reach the gates your baths will be running.” Yes, Fynn’s too.

“As far as Vere is concerned, you made it back safely last night. But I cannot control what rumors may have started because the two of you were not seen."

* * *

Laurent visibly softened for a moment when Damen acknowledged his attempts at keeping this quiet. Doubt from his people would not suit Laurent well right now, as he had quite enough of that already. He’d nearly dismantled his uncle by saying he looked tired once, and Laurent did not need that same attention put on him.

“I will not need Paschal, Damen,” Laurent murmured as he crossed the room, not at all ready to go back out into that cold, but understanding travelling back to Arles as soon as possible was essential.

He wondered if it was strange for Fynn to hear Laurent call Damen by a name that was not his full. Laurent briefly thought to change that, but though he no longer had qualms speaking Damianos’ name in Vere, he...quite liked ‘Damen.’

Oh, he was overthinking, and he could feel it.

On his way past Damen, he did surreptitiously take his hand for just a moment, squeezing, before letting it slip away as he passed through the door and through the house.

And straight to this horse issue.

Laurent did ultimately decide to climb atop Ven - at that point, it was easier for him, and he knew she was more suited to this weather. Bavar needed a break, and Laurent did not wish to encumber the stallion any more than he already had this past day.

He strode past Jord without a greeting, though he did do a quick search for Lucien. Jord has kept him inside then, where the boy belonged.

Good.

His fingers ached around the reins as he tried to grasp them. It took a few tries, but his fingers did close around the reins after a moment of a complete loss of coordination, followed by a bit of spotting behind his eyes that kept him from mounting right away.

He shook it off and pushed through it, climbing atop Ven as smoothly as he could.

A part of him did wish he had spoken to the burgomaster and thanked him for his hospitality - Laurent was truly trying to be better - but he wasn’t so sure he could get the words out in that moment. He was /exhausted/.

* * *

The touch to his hand was not enough. The squeeze to his hand was not enough. Damen could see the exhaustion if Laurent’s eyes. He didn’t care that Laurent didn’t want to see Paschal, he would be seen. A night out in the cold was cause for anyone to be seen by a physician, especially a king.

With Laurent gone from the room, Damen allowed his full anger to show. Fynn hadn’t been able to escape with him, leaving him trapped with Damen. He was furious with Fynn for allowing laurent to leave, but he knew it wasn’t exactly Fynn’s fault. When Laurent made up his mind he seldom changed it, no matter who was asking him.

“You put him at risk,” Damen snarled. “He could have died.”

Fynn squared his shoulders and met Damen’s eye. “I know. But he didn’t. He’s alive and well, just in need of rest.”

Damens’ nostrils flared. “And you?”

He didn’t like the look in Fynn’s eyes when he replied, “More than well, Exalted.”

It took everything in Damen’s body not to attack, to demand to know what had happened. Huddling for warmth, no doubt, but he could not see Laurent doing so comfortably with a man he didn’t know well, even if they shared childhood memories.

Damen said his thanks to the burgomaster and to the stableboy who grinned wide at him as he collected Fynn’s mare and Laurent new stallion, Bavar. He didn’t look so beautiful. Both horses looked beyond exhausted, and Damen didn’t feel comfortable letting them suffer a brisk ride back to the castle.

“Fynn,” he called, walking Fynn’s horse toward him. “Take my gelding. Ride back with Jord and Laurent, I’ll flank you to save your horses.”

Fynn looked startled by the suggestion, but nodded quickly and bowed. “Thank you, Exalted.”

Damen looked to Jord. “Make sure Paschal sees them both when you arrive."

* * *

Laurent caught the tail end of Fynn and Damen’s exchange, himself just as surprised as Fynn was when Damen offered up the horse. Perhaps things were well between them - a foolish thought, but the only one Laurent could muster up in that moment.

If they could at least get along until Laurent had rested, then he would be able to address this in a more graceful manner.

Laurent’s eyes found Damen once more, appreciative, before Jord called the return.

They were following a previously made path in be snow, so the travel was a bit easier. Ven was used to snow, so she pushed right through what had accumulated since Damen and Jord rode this trail, her head high, her gait even. Laurent did, once or twice, check behind him to see Damen with the Kemptian mounts. Laurent had been so unkind to Bavar, and it truly did fill him with guilt.

Amidst the other thing he’d done that didn’t make him feel all that holy.

When he turned his head back to the front, his vision spotted again, and he had to breathe through it - especially as those spots threatened in deeper into his vision.

Laurent’s head dropped once before he forced himself righted, his hold on the reins white-knuckled.

The shivering made his whole body absolutely ache, and he longed for nothing more than a bath - ideally with Damen. He had missed him in their time apart, and Laurent could admit, perhaps he had gone too far in making Fynn feel welcomed. He was playing the game as best he could, and Laurent could say he was doing well. He’d gone too far in going against Damen’s requests, in revering so viscerally to what was clearly just.../care/.

Laurent still had a lot to work though, but he thought it was a truth Damen deserved fo hear.

And Fynn...

Laurent had certainly complicated things there as well.

Arles rose on the horizon shortly after they crossed into Beloy, and Laurent felt himself physically slump in something like relief. Something like it. He’d definitely slumped.

“How’re you—“ Laurent started back to Fynn and Damen, but he had to stop, shake away what felt like marbles in his mouth before trying again. “How are Kempt and Akielos feeling?” He asked a /bit/ more clearly, just trying to read the energies coming from back there. If he needed to shape them up before they entered the palace gates, he would.

* * *

Damen was only more worried as they continued on. Laurent wasn’t acting as he normally did. Something about the way he was carrying himself was off, but they couldn’t stop. They had to continue forward or else the cold might win the fight it had seemingly been waging against both men.

He made sure to stay far enough behind Fynn that he didn’t need to make conversation. It wasn’t that difficult with Eleonor so sluggish underneath him, and Laurent’s stallion no better.

When Laurent turned, Damen almost jumped from his horse to run to him, fearful that Laurent might very well fall on his face from Ven.

“Perfectly well,” Fynn replied the same time Damen said “Just keep riding.”

Both men looked at each other with the same level of reproach.

“And you, Your Majesty?” Fynn asked, his voice thick with concern. “You look ill.”

Damen fought not to snort. Yes, telling Laurent he looked ill was a surefire way to win him over. Fynn’s horse hung her head low, swaying just slightly beneath him from exhaustion. Arles seemed so far away.

“Do you need to rest, Laurent?” Damen asked instead. “Fynn’s mare could certainly use it."

* * *

Yes, Fynn had certainly pressed at one of Laurent’s nerves with so vocally pointing out a weakness in Laurent.

“How kind’uv you,” Laurent murmured, turning back to face front with a roll of his eyes. He didn’t want them staring at his face any longer if it were true.

And to be honest, Laurent did not /feel/ ill. He just was a little sluggish, a little tired. His words were slurring from it. He was having a hard time focusing. It had been a long night and evening, that was all. They would be home soon enough—

Ideally before these two could start a fight.

Laurent did turn only when Damen mentioned there horse, only to find it was merely a jab at Fynn. The mare was as tired as he, but they just needed to get her and Bavar to the stables. They would need proper care, proper warmth and feeding.

Damen was wise not to mention Bavar.

But Laurent did not merit the jab with a response, merely kept moving forward, closer and closer to Arles. He needed a bath, his bed. His body ached, his head swam, and he just needed the opportunity to breathe, to relax, to /rest/. The shivering had only returned and kept hold of him, to a point where he might be handling the cold worse than Damen.

It was embarrassing.

* * *

Damen had no interest in a fight he would so obviously win. Fynn was in no place to say anything regarding Laurent or his health, and he hated the way it seemed like Fynn felt he /could/. He was looking at Laurent like a lover and it made Damen’s stomach churn. He knew his betrothed, and Laurent would never just allow someone to touch him. but it was obvious Fynn wanted to, which meant it was doubly obvious to Laurent.

And yet Laurent didn’t seem to care at /all./

Damen was tired and irritable already and as they moved closer to Arles, it only got worse. Fynn’s horse was slowing and Fynn was speeding up, and Ven always liked to be five paces ahead of Nikri, so she sped up too.

They entered Arles from a side gate, where Jord had posted guards to keep the public away as much as possible. Damen had arranged the extra distraction of a small parade at the northern end of the city, where the citizens could have their fill of the party’s leftover pastries. Not the most tasteful thing Damen had ever arranged, but he had limited options.

Thankfully, it had worked, and no citizens were waiting for them.

“Leave the horses,” Damen called up. “The baths are filling as we speak."

* * *

Laurent was convinced he’d fallen asleep twice atop Ven. One moment, they were following the path with Arles in the distance, and the next, Laurent heard the gates to the city opening. He remembered nothing of the ride there, was not sure how much time had passed, but when he looked about, no one seemed to be staring at him, and he was definitely still upright on Ven, so he could not imagine he’d actually nodded off.

A boring ride, that was all. Laurent must have had his head in the clouds - though he could not say he could recall what he’d been thinking to distract him so. It was like his brain had hit an absolute wall.

He could not wait to get rest.

The lack of citizens did not go unnoticed now that Laurent had clued back in to the present. The paths were relatively quiet where there was usually great fanfare and crowding - whatever someone could do to get their moment with a king. Damen had certainly done something to clear the streets - something Laurent would have to thank him for later. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, and he did not think he could speak for the chattering of his teeth.

Laurent hoped Damen would have the sense to join him in the baths. He would rather get this fight out of the way before it took up more of their time together. They were at the stables now, and if Damen was in a fine enough mood, Laurent might be able to convince him to escort Laurent to the baths.

“Your majesty—“

A stable boy was standing next to Ven, his hand out for her reins. Laurent’s eyes went hazily from the young bot to the stables and back, as if processing where he was, before landing once more on the boy, but he did not hand over the reins.

He couldn’t hand over the reins.

“Jord—“ Laurent started, as his head of guard had just dismounted and was the closest to him, but he didn’t finish the thought.

Laurent went from forcing himself upright to very slowly slumping forward—

And Jord wasn’t fast enough.

Laurent’s weight listed back and over, and he slipped from Ven’s back in one fluid motion, his body thumping hard into the snow below.

* * *

Something was wrong. Damen could see it in the way Laurent wasn’t responding immediately to the stableboy, the way his shoulders curved downward in a way Damen didn’t know. Jord dismounted and turned toward Laurent when called, just as Laurent started slumping—

Suddenly Laurent was moving too fast and had fallen on hard snow. Damen was a flurry of motion as he wrenched his feet out of the stirrups and all but leapt off of Eleonor. Fynn was dismounting himself, but had the good sense to hang back when Damen easily passed him.

“Get Paschal,” Damen commanded Jord, scooping Laurent up into his arms. He had to pray that Laurent hadn’t hit his head on the way down. “I’m taking him to our—to Laurent’s chambers.”

“I’m coming with you,” Fynn said.

Damen was going to scream. He shot Fynn a glare instead. “You are the reason he is ill. My advice to you would be to take care of yourself and stay away from me.”

Fynn scowled. “I didn’t cause his illness. Laurent chose to go out on his own, I accompanied him. Without me he would have died last night, and I promised I would not allow that to happen.”

“Shut up!” Damen snarled. “You encouraged it. I am no fool.” He gripped Laurent tighter to him. “He is still in danger, so you must have done an fine job, Your Excellency.”

Without another word, Damen stormed off toward Laurent’s bedchamber, trying his best to make sure he wasn’t jostling Laurent too much. Fynn had started all of this. Now Laurent was hurt, maybe inured from his fall, and too weak to stay on his horse. All because the duke of Kempt wanted to spend time with him.

Worse, Laurent had allowed it to happen.

* * *

Paschal’s brow creased in a great amount of worry when he saw Laurent. He had been called for most urgently, but Laurent had always been a healthy young man. He had expected an illness to food, maybe a cold. So when he saw his king unconscious and not rousing, he moved a little more quickly than perhaps his age should allow.

Jord stood by Paschal as he examined the king laid out there on his bed, Lucien at his side in case something should be needed. If Laurent was cross about it, it was something Jord would deal with as he needed to. But so far, Lucien had been quite helpful in fetching anything Paschal needed while Jord dealt with..../this/. This looked no better for him than it did for Fynn.

Paschal didn’t ask many questions - did not need to. He could easily tell what their young king has undoubtedly done to himself. He had heard the stir when Damianos had returned without the king, after all, and heard the increased whispers when Laurent did not return at all. He heard only small rumours as to where the king had gone, heard of the new horse, and it was not difficult to piece things together from that.

“He is freezing,” Paschal informed Damen, and there was a palpable tension in the room that surpasses just an ill king. No one knew how Damianos would react to this should things go awry.

“We must remove his clothing,” Paschal told Damen, skipping formalities in the height of it all. This was a common occurrence in Vere, men getting lost in the snow and having their body temperatures drop well below what was sustainable. This was the first it had happened for a king, of course.

Which was where Jord was on the axe.

“Dear boy,” Paschal said to Lucien, “Blankets. As many as you can carry.”

Lucien took off across the room to the chest where the bed sheets and blankets were kept, gathering them up quickly, bunching fine silks and furs in his haste.

With Laurent stripped - which he would hate them for - they traded wet clothes for blankets and covered Laurent almost excessively. His body would ache from the pressure of the blankets on the large bruise forming on the side of his body where he’d landed, but it was imperative he was tucked in tight. Lucien brought warm liquids, and they were tipped slowly into Laurent’s mouth. Paschal watched hims for any signs of response, anything that might take /him/ off the chopping block.

And not one person has thought about the state of Vere if this didn’t work.

But Laurent proved himself not so easy to kill once more.

His brow twitched first, mottled with a blooming bruise of where he had definitely hit his face, accompanied by a series of shallow scrapes That ran his hairline and forehead on one side. His lips moved second, parting for short breaths, and when his eyes opened, the lids were clearly to heavy for him to lift. But Laurent pushed through as he always did, only to allow himself to be seen as /lost/.

He searched the room as quickly as his eyes could, falling on Paschal, Jord—

Damen.

And Laurent closed his eyes again, let himself do so, with some underlying understanding that he was safe.


	9. Part I: Confession (5.7.20)

Usually Damen worried with no cause. He hoped that would be the case now, because Laurent didn’t get cold easily and he certainly never fainted from it. A quick spell in bed and this would all be over. But one look at Paschal’s face told him otherwise: Laurent was in very real danger.

Damen’s blood went cold as he helped strip Laurent of his clothing, eyeing his chest to see if it was still rising and falling. Losing Laurent over something so foolish as a Kemptian horse an to have some time with a Kemptian duke? Damen could not find a proper word for his anger. Fynn was an absolute imbecile to go out alone, and Laurent even more foolish for his stubbornness. He was no longer the little princeling Fynn had played with as a child. He was a king. An idiotic one, at that.

Damen helped to lay blankets over him, mind whirring with the thought of what would happen to Vere if Laurent passed away with no line to carry him and no formal union. Laurent had made it obvious the night before that their betrothal meant nothing to him, so Vere would not support him simply taking over the crown.

There would be war. Damen could very well be killed here in Arles with little to defend him. Vere would fall to ruin—or Fynn would take over the kingdom, since everyone seemed to like him so much, and Auguste had wanted him in power so dearly.

He watched the bruises form on Laurent’s face—a tired king suddenly more haggard and weak than Damen had ever seen him. His face was beyond pale, and no color was returning.

But finally, his brow twitched and Damen let out a noise of relief.

“Laurent?” he asked as Laurent looked confused. Damen wished he could reach under the blankets and take his hand, but he wasn’t allowed to shift the blankets and expose any part of him.

And Damen was still stuck by the damned rules of courting.

“Well?” he asked Paschal. “Will he recover?"

* * *

  
“He has always proven himself a survivor,” Paschal murmured, reaching out to feel Laurent’s forehead as he slipped back under. He was shivering again, just enough that Paschal felt a bit of relief. Laurent truly was a fighter. “And he is showing signs of stabilising. You returned him just in time.”

Paschal gave Damen a reassuring - and a grateful - nod. Being the physician in charge of a dying king was a horrible thing to be. Even Jord’s shoulders dropped, visibly enough that Lucien placed a soft hand on his back.

“I should not have allowed him to go,” Jord murmured from where he stood.

“There is no arguing with him,” Paschal responded easily, as the statement itself pulled them both out of guilt and accountability. He doubted Damen would argue, however.

Paschal tipped more warm liquids into Laurent’s mouth, noticing there /were/ times where he swallowed on his own. He was in there, remarkably, fighting through his bout of hypothermia. And it was a damned good thing he was.

*****

Laurent woke for a second time a few hours later, looking a little less lost than before. His eyes opened barely a crack, but he rolled his head straight over to Damen with just a weak hint of a smile.

“Vere is—“ Laurent started, though his shortness of breath left him to hesitate. “—Not yours yet.”

* * *

  
Damen didn’t leave Laurent’s side after that. What would have happened if they were a few hours later? What if the attending physician in Barbin hadn’t know how to care for him? Laurent would have died, and Damen would not have even had the chance to try to save him. To hold him one last time, to kiss him sweetly.

It didn’t feel real that only the night before they had been arguing at a party.

He did sent Paschal to Fynn next, just in case he had disobeyed orders. Fynn's symptoms were less severe, but he had developed a cough and his condition was worsening. Damen couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad. He sent Jord away and finally crawled into bed with his beloved, with Paschal’s assurance that more warmth would only help.

Damen took over helping Laurent with liquids, and Paschal excused himself to make a paste that would help Laurent feel better once he was awake.

When heard Laurent speak, Damen let a tear fall from his eye that had collected there some hours ago but had not been spilled. “You are a fool,” Damen whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Laurent’s cheek. “Sleep. If you give Vere to me I will come to the afterlife and drag you back here.

* * *

Laurent did try to raise his arms, tried to lift his hand to touch Damen’s face, for in those few moments, he saw the worry there. Laurent had no idea how long he had been out, had truly no idea as to what had really happened. He just knew he had one hell of a headache and his side /really/ hurt.

“No,” Laurent chuckled weakly in response to Damen’s comment, letting his eyes fall close again. Damen was here, he was safe, and where he was awake, he would so like to rest. “I wouldn’t much like that.”

He laid there in silence for a moment, letting his brain attempt to catch up, but there wasn’t much he could fill in. There was just a void from...Barbin to, now, here.

Laurent murmured a curse before he opened his eyes again, this time a little more than before.

He did not even know it had been another hour.

“I cannot move my arms,” Laurent whispered hoarsely, lifting his head as best he could to stare down at his...mummified body.

* * *

Laurent was far from recovered. He looked ill, and Damen’s kisses to his cheek didn’t even stir him. the bruise on laurent’s face was darker, edged with green, and Damen feared he may have jarred his brain.

He called for Paschal, but the physician had no update. Lauren needed fluid and rest. No medicine could help him now, which was terrifying for Damen to hear. Fynn wasn’t doing much better, but his sleep was at least lighter.

When Laurent woke again, Damen jolted from his spot where he had been dozing beside him.

“Darling,” he murmured, hurrying to loosen the blankets around Laurent. “You’re safe. Lay still, please.”

He only had to look up before Lucien was there with a bowl of warm broth. Damen first helped Laurent sit up a little more, but he was careful to move him only as much as he had to. Then he took the broth and spooned up some for Laurent to drink.

“Drink. Do not try to move—I mean it, Laurent.” Damen pressed the spoon gently to Laurent’s lips. “You’ve tempted my resolve enough today."

* * *

Laurent felt, more or less, fine. He ached, and his body was heavy, but he did not feel he needed such close care. He certainly did not feel as if he needed to be fed, needed to be completely without access to his limbs, his hands.

But he let Damen attend him for the moment, just while he tried to get his grip back on reality.

“Where’s Fynn?” he asked, somewhat without thinking. He only noticed that, when he had last been awake enough to notice, Fynn had been at his side, and now they were here, alone, just Laurent and Damen. “You’ve not run him off, have you?”

Oh.

Right.

/That/ memory flushed back into Laurent’s head, and he nearly choked on his broth when it really hit him. Had he access to his hands, he would have covered his mouth, but instead, he had to turn his face from Damen which only led him to hurt his neck in doing so.

He could not be bound like this.

Despite what Damen had said, Laurent wrestled to get his arms out of the blankets at /least/, which he noticed made his right side ache all the more. A sudden ache, undoubtedly from a bruise, stopped him from wriggling, and he blew hard out of his nose, clearly annoyed with his predicament.

“What happened?” he finally asked. “Am I missing a a limb or something of the sort under here?”

* * *

Only one thing could make Damen upset in this moment, and Laurent had found it. _Fynn._ Laurent’s first thought upon waking from near death was about _Fynn_. Hurt lanced Damen’s heart, and he was reminded once more of how it felt to sit waiting in a carriage while Pallas searched for Laurent, only to report he had left some time ago, with Fynn.

It took him some time to answer.

“He is well. Still here, and I will not have you visiting with him anytime soon.” He decided to lie, because he didn’t want Laurent killing himself because he got too worried about his new lover.

“You fell ill from cold,” Damen explained. “You spent the night in a snowstorm with an inept duke, and managed to survive only long enough for me to find you. You fell from your horse when we arrived. Your true horse, not the one he nearly killed you with.”

Damen offered more soup. “Drink,” he urged. “You’re still in danger."

* * *

Oh, Damen was /quite/ sour about all of this.

Laurent supposed be could understand the anger there. He did not see it as a lack of faith in him, but as a very /Damen/ response to danger. He used to approve of Laurent’s little acts of peril, but Laurent supposed that was back when Damen had been ready for Laurent to die.

“Do not blame the horse,” Laurent murmured, and though it was a strange side to take in this, it was so very Laurent. “I made the decision to ride out myself. The horse merely facilitated my wishes. As did the duke.”

He didn’t /want/ to fight with Damen, but he also did not need to wake up and be instantly notified of his wrongdoings. He had loved them, and he was suffering because of them. It was something he would learn on his own.

“And you saved my life,” Laurent added, a little more softly, “Again.”

He was not unaware of that fact.

So he drank as instructed, tried to cooperate, even in the unease of the blanket cocoon. Laurent would not be able to suffer it long.

And he would not be sharing /any/ news with Damen until he knew he had the freedom of movement.

It was not that he feared violence from Damen, as Fynn might expect, but because Laurent wanted the freedom to grab Damen, wanted the ability to /keep him there/ if he tried to leave.

Perhaps Laurent shouldn’t tell.

* * *

Damen would hardly call this saving Laurent’s life. He had been at the right place, and that was only because of a fast messenger. Thankfully, Laurent didn’t press the issue more and took his soup without resistance. He could have /died/. Damen would have gone through the day worrying, and who knew how long it would be until they had found wherever Fynn and Laurent had bedded down for the night?

Once the soup was mostly gone, Damen set it aside and gently tugged the blankets away from Laurent’s body, freeing him from the embrace of the blankets.

“I told you not to ride back to the palace,” Damen said, sitting back. He wasn’t sure how long he could stay here before someone else came in—that someone being Fynn. “Then you chose to do it anyway. And worse, you left without telling me. I thought perhaps I had convinced you and waited, Laurent. I looked like a fool. I waited for you.”

And instead he had gone off with Fynn.

“I did my best to stop the rumors,” he said, sitting back. “But I do not even know what I am defending."

* * *

Laurent should have known once Damen had done him the service of freeing his arms that there would be /words/. And there needed to be, yes. Laurent very much deserved this talking to, but he’d hoped for maybe a few moments.

He lifted his hand to his head, an attempt to rub away at the headache, but he caught sight of his arm on the way up and froze to inspect it. The skin was mottled with greens, yellows, and reds - a bruise ready to start and climb his body with purples. They would be hidden easily enough under Veretian clothing, but he had to wonder how hard he had hit his head, what he might have to hide /there/.

He’d hit the ground hard - he could feel that - and Laurent had no idea how he would come back from that. Even he could not believe he’d allowed this to go as far as it had. But how could he have known? He could not be blamed for the weather.

Even if it did rid Vere of its king.

Laurent...had not truly thought of that.

He dropped his arm back to the bed, and let Damen have at it while that realisation sort of settled with him—

Right until he had to focus elsewhere.

“You do not know what you are defending?” Laurent asked, voice still hoarse, but that did not hide his accusation. “Tell me, Damen, what does /that/ mean? Is it /me/ you have forgotten or what we have?”

* * *

Damen frowned at the sight of Laurent’s bruised arm. It looked painful, and Damen had seen his fair share of bruises. Laurent had fallen from Ven with no protection into hard snow. He hadn’t been able to break his fall or even tense on the way down.

The accusation did not sit well with him. Not when he had been awake the whole night through worried sick about his beloved only to have Laurent wake up looking for Fynn and not even acknowledging his existence.

“I have not forgotten you or what we have,” Damen growled. “But you have never made a fool of me so publicly before—not since I was your slave. I agreed to this competition because you asked me to, but I did not agree to be humiliated.”

He didn’t want to argue, but he imagined Laurent would be running off to Fynn the moment he could. He had spent far too much time in Damen’s company to be considered fair.

“Fynn seems to think he has authority to attend you. He stares at you like a virgin princess—and he was not looking at you that way last night at the party. Your toying with him will not interfere with my caring for you, and I let him know it.”

Fynn would not be entering Laurent’s chambers until Damen approved of it, and that would only be when Laurent was fully recovered from his chill.

* * *

Laurent did not think it had been /so/ bad. Yes, he’d selfishly left the party, but he had not wanted a to-do about it. He was a king, and so did as he pleased! He hardly thought it equated to what he had done to Damen before.

But then, he’d been gone by that point, hadn’t he?

“You were hardly in the mood for goodbyes when we last spoke,” Laurent pointed out sourly, resting back against the pillows, his arms crossed as they could over his chest. “You were in such a mood to call me names, and to treat me like a child returning upon curfew.”

But even as he said it, Laurent reached over to take Damen’s hand in his. The greens and yellows certainly looked sickly next to Damen’s skin.

“Vere knows what game you are trapped in, and they respect you more than before for it,” Laurent reminded Damen. “It is all in how you handle it.”

How he handled /Fynn/.

Fynn - who supposedly wasn’t handling /himself/ well, giving looks and expressions like an untrained schoolboy with an infatuation.

Laurent rolled his eyes.

“Fynn’s confidence has undoubtedly taken a hit from /this/ -“ Laurent vaguely motioned to himself. “And in the eyes of Vere, it will be noted.” By those who did not like Laurent, Fynn would be seen as a captive to Laurent’s wiles, but to others, he would merely be an enabler.

“And he will need that hit,” Laurent murmured, his eyes on his hand where he had Damen. He would squeeze if he had to, fight the pain to keep Damen by his side when he addressed this. “I...reacted poorly to the evening’s...unfolding, and I kissed Fynn.”

The last bit he stated so easily, it felt as if he’d merely pointed out Damen’s hair colour to him.

“He thinks he has standing because of that.”

* * *

“Call you—“ Damen let out a huff. “It doesn’t matter. I would have told you goodbye, and you know it.” There as no scenario where Damen would have ever left Laurent waiting in a carriage unless he were dead somewhere or fighting off an assassin. He had thought the same of Laurent until Pallas had told him he had left an hour prior.

He softened slightly when Laurent took his hand, realizing how much he had missed it. Being in Laurent’s company and not being touched reminded him of a time long before this, and it made him uncomfortable. Courting him wasn’t as easy as Damen had thought it would be, and it had not even been a day.

He longed for the day Fynn left, that they could be back to normal again. Two lovers finally united in Marlas. Fynn could come to their wedding, he supposed. It would be good to have Kempt there. They could—

Damen blinked stupidly for a moment, thinking he had certainly misheard. Laurent had said it so passively. _I kissed Fynn._ Not _Fynn kissed me._

“You kissed Fynn,” he said, deadpan. He stared at Laurent intently. This was not the whole of it. “What do you mean, Laurent?” Oh no, this was not just a peck, a thank-you kiss. Not the farewell kiss they had discussed. “What do you mean, you kissed him?"

* * *

Laurent didn’t find it all that difficult to understand.

“I mean exactly what I have said,” Laurent replied, his hand still on Damen’s, ready. “It was quite late, I was cold, we were close for the warmth, and I kissed him.”

He’d been thinking of Damen, he remembered. He had thought of their evenings together, or the way Damen cared for him. He had been thinking of their closeness, and he’d...just kissed Fynn. But none of that seemed pertinent. Laurent had, in that moment, merely found he /could/ care for another, but today, back with Damen, he knew now that it was not the same. There was a closeness there, a respect, but the desire was only that of the dark, of uncertainty.

It would not happen again.

“It was my decision—“ Laurent started, but he’d breathed in too quickly to make that clear, to expunge Fynn of guilt, and he’d begun to cough. It hurt his body more than he cared to admit, and he was quite sure he had just learned of a cracked rib. He squeezed Damen’s hand through it, not letting him take advantage of a momentary weakness.

The coughing left Laurent breathless, and his unmarred hand came to his chest as he tried to catch his breath, tried to get back into it.

“It was my decision—“ Laurent started again, clearing his throat, relaxing himself. “I was reckless. But we are here now, Damen. There is no use dwelling.”

* * *

Damen wasn’t immediately hurt because Laurent explained it to easily. Like kissing Fynn wasn’t something bad or hurtful at all, like he’d merely touched his arm or huddled close to him for warmth. Both of those things Damen could excuse. He /supposed/ he could even excuse a kiss in thanks or a kiss farewell.

But not this blatant admission of guilt. Laurent had kissed Fynn because they were close, and because it was cold. The same way any unfaithful man claimed they simply had been unable to fend off the advanced of a woman, a slave, or a man.

It had been Laurent’s decision. Damen just stared, even as Laurent coughed in clear pain. Damen’s worst fear was coming true right before his eyes: Laurent wanted a new adventure with a man, and he would leave Damen for Kempt. Kempt!

“Dwelling,” he repeated coldly. “Tell me, Laurent, if I were to have done the same, do you think you would merely stop dwelling?” Laurent would throw him out. He noticed Laurent’s grip on his hand was firm—so he expected him to run, then.

“You know this is not some silly transgression,” Damen snarled. “Yet you try to make me feel like I would be unreasonable to be angry—like always! You said yourself that this was your decision. A decision you made in direct defiance of what we agreed.”

He shook his head.

“Let go of my hand,” Damen said. "I will send in your duke. When you first woke you asked for him anyway."

* * *

Laurent had been more or less prepared for this. He’d known it was coming, had seen this well in advance. He had prepared for this mentally in the moments after kissing Fynn, knew exactly how Damen would react, and he had done just as expected.

Predictable as Damen was though, Laurent honestly did not anticipate just how he would feel while it happened.

Usually, he could slough away feelings like this, especially when it truly /did not matter anymore/. Laurent had made a mistake, he’d come clean, and now, he was here with Damen. Certainly there was no use in wasting their time on it. Laurent had, of course, told Damen about it just so they could move forward.

It had been so long since Damen had looked at him like that, even longer since he’d spoken to Laurent with such disdain...

Laurent could not have anticipated what that would bring out in him.

He could not even /try/ at boredom, at ennui.

“You will do no such thing,” Laurent hissed, and any moment where he looked as if he might have grown in the past year disappeared. He would not be letting Damen go. Laurent would hold control over this entire instance.

He wanted to point out that he /had/ witnessed Damen with others, had watched him do much more than kiss—

But even as Laurent formed the words, he knew what the response would be. That he had forced Damen into those.

So he has to approach it differently.

“I do not dwell on the pet, nor on those of Vask, as I realise they mean /nothing/.” Laurent had dealt with it as he had needed to then, so yes, he had stopped /dwelling/.

Laurent stopped himself right there, knowing what he was perfectly capable of doing with his words here, but it was not that kind of fight. It would not be that kind of fight.

* * *

Typical Laurent, trying to twist the past against him. Vask should not have even been part of the conversation, and the pet had been something Damen didn’t even remember he has been so drugged.

“Those did mean nothing,” Damen snapped back. “In Vask we were not together, and the pet was something you told me you had allowed, but I do not remember because I was drugged!” He would not let Laurent twist this on him when he had done nothing wrong.

The looks Fynn had been giving Laurent told of much more than a kiss, but Damen had to trust that Laurent was telling the truth. But he also knew that Laurent was a very good kisser, and he doubted it had been just one.

“I can’t wait for the kingdom to know you not only abandoned me at the party, but spent the evening kissing the duke. I should like to see how I will be respected then!”

But he wasn’t really concerned about that, he was hurt by the fact that Laurent wold ever choose to kiss someone else. He might be able to understand Fynn kissing him without Laurent consenting, but the fact that he had _chosen_?

“I would be wise to return to Ios to save myself the embarrassment of this game."

* * *

“So you would leave,” Laurent accused, saying it before the thought had really formed. He’d never have guessed that Damen would threaten /leaving/. Not off to /Ios/. An evening away as Laurent had would haha been expected, but ducking traversing the /country/? Over one kiss?

Damen would leave for /that/?!

Emotions were such foolish things, especially to cause a rift like this over one evening that Laurent had fessed up to outright. It had not been meant to humiliate Damen, had not even been a conscious decision! Laurent had just...well, he’d desired to do it - desired to do something he thought himself unable. Laurent had felt something so /fleeting/, but something /real/—

And even then, he’d chosen /Damen/!

He had been in no other relationships, truly. At twenty-one, Damen had been the only one to have his heart, and...well, Laurent had never had someone take offence to who he kissed before. He had never had someone he was entrusted to. And it wasn’t an excuse to do it again, but—

Laurent had made a mistake that just so happened to work perfectly into their game. Damen could not penalise him for /that/!

Damen would leave over something so foolish—

And what future would Vere have then?

What future would it have had if Laurent had not been rescued by Damen?

Laurent’s hand slipped from Damen’s to hold his own head, mindful of the bruising.

He was so difficult to love.

“It is not an action I will repeat,” Laurent murmured, dropping his hand to stare across the room. “I—“ Laurent cleared his throat. “I sought comfort where I should not have, and I understand that.” Because that’s what it came down to. That’s what he had done. “It was of my own stubbornness that I found myself where I did, and I...I made a mistake, Damen.”

“I need you. Here.” Laurent kept his eyes forward, off Damen, afraid to relay more weakness than he already had in this. But it was best he did this, for if he reacted in his usual way, Damen /would/ leave.

* * *

Damen would leave. He would hate it, but he could not stand to be humiliated as a guest of Vere, as Laurent’s betrothed. He could not stand it, especially being unable to touch Laurent as he wanted, to kiss him in the halls and spend the days with him discussing policy. They couldn’t even discuss the wedding because it was technically wasn’t happening until Laurent chose officially.

He looked away, not sure what to do with his hands. It would pain him not to sleep here tonight, not to curl up with Laurent at the end of the day, and putting miles between them would only make it worse. Fynn would also stay here until he captured Laurent’s heart or was sent away.

“I love you,” Damen said quietly, also looking ahead. “It _was_ a mistake.” He was thankful Laurent acknowledged that. Being angry wasn’t productive, and he remembered his father’s words about not going to sleep angry. Some nights were more difficult with Laurent as a lover. This would be one of them. ANd they likely had many more in their future because of this little confession. 

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Laurent’s temple.

“You need to rest,” Damen murmured. “I will stay with you, but I think Paschal should see to your wounds now that you’re awake. How do you feel? Our arguing aside."

* * *

Laurent turned into the kiss as he could, let his eyes close just to feel Damen’s lips at his temples however brief it might be. He had agreed to stay, which was both what Laurent wanted and needed, so Laurent finally felt he could rest again—

And the need to do so was much stronger than he’d let himself feel during that fight.

The ache in his body returned the moment Damen asked him about his current state, his mind focusing right back on what ailed him now that the argument had subsided. For now. He did not know what was from falling and what was from freezing.

He did not yet know if he was in the clear from his evening mishaps - if sleeping was safe.

“Like I have fallen from a horse,” Laurent mumbled in response to Damen’s question as he leaned back against the pile of fine pillows behind his head.

“How do I /look/?” he asked Damen in return.

* * *

“You look as if you fought the horse,” Damen teased fondly. Laurent was bruised all to hell at his brow, and his cheek was turning blue and green. He hated to think what his side looked like. It was alarming to see him so injured after something so small. They had gone to war together and hadn’t faced so much. Even after Laurent had been captured and knocked out.

“Try not to move,” Damen said. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable than this Veretian garb. It was very painful to carry you in here with these piercings.” In truth, he hadn’t noticed it, but he could feel the ache now.

Damen stood from bed and instructed the guards to find Paschal before he began unlacing himself. It was strange to look around Laurent’s bedroom and not see any of his things there, another reminder that he was no longer in the same standing as he had been just a day ago.

“I think I will need to make an appearance today,” he said as he continued unlacing. “Attend lunch, at least. There are enough rumors as it is, I do not ned to add ones about breaking the rules of courtship.”

He loathed it, but if this game was going to continue, he needed to play his part.

“You will be staying in bed. Do not even think to deny it."

* * *

Laurent hinged at a pleased little smile at the mention of the piercings.

He watched Damen begin for undress - why deny himself the show? - when Damen pulled him out of it with mentions of making appearances and crowd control.

Laurent’s first response was to damn the game entirely. He didn’t want to do it anymore if it meant losing Damen. It had been quite enough. It had led to unease, to a fracture in the trust Laurent had been building and building for months. It had left uncertainty with Vere. Had Laurent not pulled through, war would have undoubtedly broken in his country. Some would say Damen had the most right to the throne, but the majority would not, and then what would they have done? Who would have taken his seat? What would become of his country?

Laurent had begun to accept that it was /just/ Kempt, that he didn’t /need/ Kempt—

But Vere did.

And that shot his stance straight down.

His breath was short, but he’d managed to conceal it. His eyes were vacant with elsewhere thoughts, but still on Damen.

He came to when the door opened, presence returning and sights turning on Paschal for his check.

*****

“You were certainly on the right horse,” Paschal commented, applying a thick salve to all the bruises on Laurent’s skin. The worst were at his hip, where he’d clearly hit first, and the pain in his ribs from before was no lasting injury, much to Paschal’s surprise. A bit of poking, and all the tenderness was only surface level, most likely where his arm was tucked against his body when he fell. His face had smacked last, but there was no serious trauma. He’d have a headache for a while, but the fall had merely been there to bruise his skin and pride, it seemed.

Paschal still worried about Laurent’s memory and motor functions due to the freeze, and it was something he would need to monitor over the next few days. Laurent seemed to have his memories, and his stiffness seemed to be leftover from the fall, but it would be something to watch out for.

“You certainly are resilient,” Paschal told him, lying Laurent back down on the bed, ruining the sheets with the salve, but Laurent didn’t mention it.

“Much to the dismay of /many/,” Laurent said right back, and Paschal did not disagree with him. It was not his personal thinking, but he knew better than to disagree with facts.

* * *

Once Paschal arrived to care for Laurent, Damen left for lunch with a quick kiss to Laurent’s forehead. His first visit was to Fynn, who was (thankfully) still asleep. The cold had affected him as badly as it has Laurent, and he was developing a nasty cough. His physician informed Damen that he wished to know of King Laurent’s condition whenever he did wake.

“Tell him Laurent is recovering nicely, but will be staying in his chambers for he rest of the day. He is not to be disturbed.” Damen wanted to leave it at that, but relented with a sigh. “But he wishes to be informed when Fynn is feeling more like himself.”

There. His saintly duty for the day was done.

Lunch was a boring affair, but it was good to hear that the city was rejoicing in the new competition and eager to welcome Kempt’s trade regardless of the outcome. Damen didn’t enjoy the part about Kempt, but he was lad to hear Veretians actually excited about something other than fucking or pets. The court asked about Laurent (and Fynn) but Damen merely rolled his eyes and made quip about Kemptian courtship always being longwinded.

Once lunch was finished, he hurried back to Laurent’s bedchamber. Paschal had not left, as Damen had instructed.

“Should I take him to the baths?” Damen asked. “Would that help him feel better? Has he eaten?"

* * *

Laurent was more or less asleep when Damen returned, his lids heavy, his lips slightly parted, relaxed only in a way he allowed himself when he was asleep. Paschal had dosed him with something for his aches - a strong perfumed substance that still lingered in the room.

“I fear the heat of the baths would shock his body,” Paschal frowned, placing his hand on the unbruised side of his kings forehead. “Perhaps in the morning would be best, after I see how his temperature regulates this evening.”

Laurent rolled his head towards Damen, his words garbled as he tried to speak clearly, the effect of the drug strong in his system.

“You‘I’ll stay’ere’onight,” he told Damen. “T’watch.”

Paschal shook his head before adding, “I offered Lucien for the endeavour, to stay within the accordance of the courting, it—“ He waved to Laurent. “The king has spoken.”

Laurent hummed, seemingly pleased with himself.

“He is eating as he usually does, and his mind seems to be unaltered.” Laurent was still very much himself, unchanged form what he had been for the last five years, at least. “By tomorrow, we will know the extent of his affectations, and hopefully, we will be able to continue as normal.”

* * *

Laurent didn’t look well, even now. His bruising looked worse, and his skin was still so pale. But it was good that he was eating, and that he was still sound in mind. The injuries to the body were bad enough when it came to falling from horses—Damen hadn’t even considered what the mental would be. His mind could be lost—hours or days from now. He was not yet recovered.

Vere was still at risk. Damen was still at risk of losing the man he loved.

He was grateful that he would be staying the night, but he felt the pressure of courtship rules and the questions of the court echoed in his ears about Laurent and Fynn’s absence from lunch.

“My hope as well,” Damen agreed, moving over to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress beside Laurent and leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead.

“Sleep is what is best for you now,” Damen soothed, grazing his thumb along Laurent’s jaw. “Stubborn fool."

* * *

Laurent huffed out a little laugh, rolled his tired eyes over to Damen. Damen had no right to speak to him in such a way, as if /he/ were not just as - if not more so - stubborn.

“The drug will wear off in a few hours,” Paschal assured Damianos, closing his little pouch of medical supplies. “It will help him relax, should put him to sleep.”

“I said I did’n’eed it,” Laurent told Damen, to which Paschal merely shook his head.

“He did not stop me when I administered,” Paschal informed Damen. “He has never been one to take help easily.”

To be fair, Laurent had been sick so rarely in his youth and well into his adulthood, that he had no reason to believe he needed many of Paschal’s salves. As a child, he had needed a few.../antidotes/ of sorts, but this was the first time they’d ever faced lasting repercussions of care. Laurent had never taken many battle wounds, and the right scar on his shoulder had been a pretty simple fix.

“I will stay in the visitors chambers tonight,” Paschal told Damen, pointing towards the hall. “Should I be needed, I will be mere seconds away.”

“Rest,” Laurent ordered softly to his physician. “All’ll be...well.”

* * *

Damen knew full well that Laurent had a tendency to refuse help. He should have ridden home with Damen the night before, but beyond that, he should have riding in Damen’s lap back to the palace to have prevented this fall. Many things should have happened differently.

“Thank you, Paschal. Come see him after dinner, I’d like to have him assessed before we bed down for the night.” He would be wrought with worry otherwise—Damen didn’t truly trust himself to sleep tonight, just in case something happened to Laurent.

Once Paschal had gone, Damen smoothed back Laurent’s hair, careful to avoid his bruising. “You need to stop fighting the sleep,” Damen murmured. “I am here now, you can rest. I will not leave you, but I must continue working. I returned last night to a mountain of parchment from Ios.”

But he couldn’t simply start work with Laurent ill. He smiled warmly, looking over Laurent’s flushed cheeks and pale skin. His bruising didn’t look good at all, but it could be so much worse.

“I am glad you’re home,” he said softly. “And I’m glad you’re safe now."

* * *

Laurent couldn’t /sleep/. It was merely the afternoon, and sleeping now could be detrimental to the kingdom. Laurent had done enough to put Vere in danger these last few hours. The least he could do would be to fight this, to stay up, to maybe even join Damen in work.

As if he had a choice.

The struggle in him was visible - stubborn and steadfast as ever despite his waning mind.

“How’is...Ios?” Laurent asked, eyelids drooping and fluttering as he fought so hard to keep them open. He could not even find Damen through his own lashes, but the familiar and reassuring touches meant he was obviously near. “How...is Nik’n’dros?”

There would be no way Laurent could stay awake to hear the answer, but her certainly did try.

“You’re making me’look like’a..horr’ble king with your...diligence,” Laurent prattled on, a good fifteen minutes later, as if he’d been awake the whole time. He did not even realise he had drifted off.

* * *

“I don’t know how Ios is, or about Nikandros,” Damen chuckled. “That is why I must read the parchment.” That didn’t seem to matter though, for Laurent was fast asleep by the time Damen had picked up his first letter.

Ios, it seemed, was well. Damen longed for it—the warmth of the sun, the salty spray of the sea. He missed sandals and chitons without fur and being able to ride across fields on his horses Nikandros detailed a few quarrels between Kyroi, but nothing of great importance. He said the palace was lonelier, the days shorter but seemingly endless without company.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t go off on night rides with Kemptian dukes, then,” Damen quipped distractedly, reading about grain stores. Hopefully winter would be mild in Akielos, that way they would have enough grain set aside to have good stores for the wedding.

If it happened. Damen looked over to his betrothed, weaker than Damen had ever seen him. All because of a night out in the cold.

He set his papers aside and stole a kiss to Laurent’s lips, chaste but meaningful.

“Stop worrying about diligence and rest, my love."

* * *

Laurent could still take a joke it seemed, as he huffed out a little breath through a smirk. So Damen would hold it against him like /that/, the . Laurent supposed he should not have expected any different.

“I’ll do as...I please,” Laurent smiled, but that alone was too much effort under this influence. Paschal had not mixed him a light dosage at all of this treatment. It was almost as if he knew Laurent would fight the sleep, and thus, dosed him twice over.

“Nev’r...forget that.”

He didn’t have the ultimate wherewithal to respond in kind to the kiss, much to his dismay, but Laurent did turn his head towards Damen should he want to try it again.

“The...liberties you take,” Laurent whispered. “And the...advantage.”

He meant it with no weight - just a whimsical thought, an attempt at a joke.

“I am happy...you still kiss me,” he confessed a moment later, his tone softer as sleep took him again.

And again.

The third time he woke, it was to food that was once more all but poured down his throat. He briefly remembered talking, but he could not recall the words he made, let alone the thoughts he had. Laurent did not even know what he was talking to, and there was little he hated more than not being in control of his own mind, at the very least.

Laurent woke the very next morning well before sunrise, much earlier than he ever should have. He /forced/ his eyes open, the time of day be damned, taking control the /moment/ he was able to.

* * *

It was Damen’s turn to roll his eyes. Laurent could not do as he pleased. He was a king. And if he wasn’t careful, he was going to have the kingdom backing Kempt instead of Akielos. He tried not to take Laurent’s comments personally when he was so drugged, but it made him nervous. He couldn’t stop imagining Laurent and Fynn kissing in the firelight.

Laurent fell asleep again, and Damen continued working, thought he had a smile on his face at Laurent’s last words. Yes, he was glad he could still kiss him too.

He spent the evening writing letters, signing and sealing documents, and ensuring he had a stack of things to go back to his home. He helped Laurent eat his dinner, then had Paschal watch over him while he attended dinner himself. Fynn was also in attendance, but looked sickly and left before the food had even arrived.

That evening, Damen crawled into bed beside the man he loved. He checked Laurent’s forehead for fever. Then he pressed a kiss there and settled in beside his betrothed, placing a protective arm around him, even though it irritated his piercings.

He woke the moment he felt Laurent shift under his arm, fearful that he would start convulsing or something equally frightening.

“Laurent—?” he slurred against the pillow, not yet opening his eyes. “Whadd’you need?"

* * *

The very weight of Damen’s massive limb made it impossible for Laurent to sit up, as much as he wanted to, so he set about tapping it away, trying to duck under the weight and come out freed on the other side.

“I need nothing,” he grunted as he got his legs over the side of the bed, as he freed himself of Damen’s gold and just /stood/ - stood to prove he /could/. “Go back to sleep.”

Laurent tested his weight on his legs, hand hovering over the night stand should he not have the strength to stay upright. But upright he stood, feet firmly planted as he took charge of himself, assessed his own physical health.

It certainly was quite cold outside of the blankets, but it was a manageable chill, and the shiver that hit him first was the one and only he had. That had to be a good sign.

Laurent could admit to a shortness of breath, but he could not be sure that it was a continued symptom from his frozen ailment. He attributed it to something like adrenaline, like a nervousness that came with not being sure he would be able to /stand/ anymore. And what kind of king would he be then? Immobile, useless...

He took a step forward easily enough, followed by a step back. He shifted his weight, tried the basic motor function of walking, and Laurent was pleased to feel no lag, no weariness, no loss of coordination as he did so.

* * *

Damen let himself feel heavy against the mattress again, figuring Laurent probably just needed to stretch his legs after spending all day in bed. He curled toward the warm spot on the mattress Laurent had left, then peeked an eye open to get a look at his naked—

His horribly bruised naked body. Color splashed up Laurent’s sides and Damen remembered just why he was here, why Laurent was /supposed/ to be in bed.

“Laurent,” Damen snapped, louder than he wanted to for so early. “Get back into this bed! I will not have you falling dead in the middle of the night because you decided you were healed!”

He threw the covers off himself and launched from bed as though Laurent might fall right then and there. Damen grabbed his hand, his other hand coming to brace gently at Laurent’s back.

“Lie down. There is no reason for you to be walking around at this hour. You must rest, even if you feel you don’t need to—last time, you fell from your horse."

* * *

Laurent turned around, clearly displeased with Damen’s tone of voice so early in the morning.

“Let go,” Laurent replied as softly as he could. He did not want Damen to call him stubborn of anything like that. Especially not when he was not /being/ stubborn. He merely needed to test for himself that he was, in fact, going to be okay. For his own peace of mind.

He placed his hand over Damen’s cuffed wrist, did not push him away but merely held him should he try to pull Laurent down. “I am alright, Damen,” he said, “Go back to sleep.”

He doubted appeasing Damen was so simple, however.

In fact, he knew better.

“I cannot lie around any longer,” Laurent added, still calm, still disarming. “I just need a moment.” He needed to /move/! His body was stiff, and not just from bruising. He was young, he would be fine.

“Stand up,” he tried, tapping Damen’s arm. “Walk with me if you are so worried.”

* * *

Damen did not let go. Laurent was at risk, so no, he would maintain his hold. Letting Laurent go off on his own had resulted in this mess, and he wasn’t keen to go through it again. He was also afraid Laurent would go to Fynn, as Fynn had clearly done his best to go to dinner to see Laurent.

He let out a snort at the mere suggestion that he would be going back to sleep anytime soon.

“I will,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up. “And you will put on a cloak before you freeze again.” Damen’s cloth bedskirt wasn’t exactly warm, but he didn’t mind it as he moved over to Laurent’s wardrobe and removed a cloak made almost exclusively of fur. that ought to be enough.

He draped the furs around Laurent’s shoulder and tied it closed so his naked body would be covered.

“We could try the baths,” Damen offered. “The warm air may help."

* * *

It pulled a smile out of Laurent, watching Damen rise as he had insisted, watching Damen as he doted over him just so Laurent could do as he pleased. Damen was still too good to him, even after what he’d done.

The pang of guilt was minimal, but undoubtedly there, squeezing Laurent’s heart as Damen came close and wrapped him in that warm fur. Laurent held it about him as he knew Damen hoped he would, finding compromise in his wiles and Damen’s desires.

“I could use a bath,” Laurent agreed, his fingertips tracing along the edge of his betrothed’s jaw. He was so close and Laurent could not help but touch.

Damen was just a different kind of handsome. Laurent had never seen such a man before, truly. His dark eyes, his even darker lashes, his high cheek bones, his olive skin. He was, in so many ways, Laurent’s opposite, and even to this moment, it fascinated Laurent. To think this beautiful man loved him and Laurent had taken advantage of it.

“The baths,” Laurent murmured, dripping his fingers and giving Damen a soft smile. “I promise to behave.”

* * *

Damen shoot his head. “You are not allowed to fully bathe,” Damen said, leaning into the touch of his jaw. “Paschal said it could send you into shock. But warming your feet would not be so bad, I should think. He noticed Laurent looking him over, and he wondered hat he was thinking about. He also wondered if Laurent had looked at Fynn this way.

“I will carry you back here,” Damen warned. “I do not care if I am accused of assault.” He meant it, too. He wouldn’t have Laurent escaping from him and harming himself further.

Damen offered his arm to Laurent, then led him away toward the baths. The guards looked uneasy as Damen left, and he informed them that they were going to the baths, but Laurent would not be bathing. Paschal should find them if they weren’t back in an hour.

The baths were already steaming when they entered, and Damen was careful to keep Laurent safely away from the water.

“How about you sit on the edge and dip your feet in?” Damen offered. “I think that would be safer than wading—in case you fall."

* * *

“I will not /fall/, Damen,” Laurent groaned, but he had promised to behave, so he did as asked. He dropped the robe on a bench by the baths, for it was much too thick for the environment, and feeling a little less stuffy, he sat on the bath’s edge, his feet dipping into the warm water.

It didn’t feel any hotter than normal - didn’t burn or anything like that. His feet had been warmed greatly in his fur cocoon in the bed - and Laurent could /feel/ his toes, which was nice. He wiggled them and was pleased they reacted.

“Come sit with me,” he said to Damen as he patted the spot beside himself.

The castle was quiet - eerily so. Even outside, there was not the constant sound of animals, of workers, of the common Veretian entertainment. The world was just his and Damen’s for now.

Laurent liked it that way.

* * *

Damen assisted as much as Laurent would allow to ready him for the baths. He wasn’t sure how Laurent could move just yet, and didn’t trust what he was saying. Riding back to the palace had not been a wise idea, yet Laurent had thought himself fine to do it, and Damen had assumed he was well enough to. Not this time.

He moved to sit next to Laurent when prompted and put his feet in the warm water.

The quiet only reminded him that he was exhausted. He had stayed up the night through with Laurent upon returning, after already having stayed up the night before that. He had barely slept since Laurent had been fed his dinner, too fearful that he might fall ill again.

“You were very ill,” Damen murmured, his eyes heavy. “That is the last time I believe Veretians are immune to cold."

* * *

“Veretians /are/ immune to cold,” Laurent responded quietly, as if speaking too loudly might wake the world around them. “For short amounts of time.”

And when they were /prepared/ to be out in the snow for an extended period of time. Laurent had been in no more than dress clothes.

Laurent kicked his feet in the water, a gentle back and forth sway that created little waves that rose and fell almost over the edge of the bath.

He rested his head on Damen’s shoulder for just a moment as if to substitute for a hug before lifting it again, his eyes roaming with thought.

“I did something very foolish,” Laurent spoke up after a moment, hands planted on the stone at his side, eyes out across the room as he usually directed them when confessing something like this. “Two things, technically. And I know that.”

“I do not want you to believe there was malice in my actions,” he continued, “and I did not have some...grand plan to humiliate you. I am sure you saw my actions as... immature. If not that, selfish.”

And they had been. He had risked the future of Vere on a streak of ire that would have passed in just a few moments. Laurent knew that.

“I suppose I have to confess now that, despite my desires, I am human, and I do in fact, err.”

* * *

Damen relaxed slightly when Laurent rested his head against him. He hadn’t anticipated courting rules to be something he adhered to so strictly, but he supposed he knew Veretians would twist it against him if he didn’t. There were already so many claims that he was forcing Laurent to love him, that he had somehow bewitched him

He rubbed his eyes when Laurent began to explain himself again, the hurt filling him anew. He had almost forgotten about it, but now all he could see was Laurent with his cheeks flushed pink, guiding Fynn’s mouth to his in the firelight of some snowy palace.

“Your actions were hurtful,” Damen said quietly. “The kiss and leaving the rook. But the latter put both of our kingdoms at risk. Not to mention—“

He took a breath.

“I love you. Yes, I can be jealous, but—Laurent, I told you not to go. Certainly not on your own without protection on a new horse.”

It was pointless to vent his frustration now, but he was still shaken up by it all. He had almost lost the man he loved—if anything had gone differently, he would have.

“Fynn was still ill at dinner last night,” Damen murmured. “Paschal informed me that his condition worsened, but he is not at risk of death.” Not much of a risk, anyway. Not immediately. “You both could have been killed. I don’t know what I would have done."

* * *

“You did tell me not to go “ Laurent agreed, staring down at his feet in the tub now, eyes anywhere but on Damen. His betrothed was the only man who could bring /this/ out in Laurent - this uncertainty, this /guilt/. He did not wish to argue this further. He had said what he’d needed to on the front of his actions.

He intended to then move onto the future, the results of his actions. Laurent intended to talk about /them/ - himself and Damen - and what this all meant for them.

But the news of Fynn grabbed at his mind.

It was a genuine, platonic worry - something that came with hearing a friend was in danger. This was such a rare feeling for Laurent - to feel like he had people to /lose/ again, and he could not just ignore it.

“Fynn is ill?” Laurent asked despite his better judgement. “Why did no one—“

Of course, Laurent knew no one had been /able/ to tell him, so that was any easy enough to answer on his own.

Laurent had a fiercely protective streak - had shown it in its height in Ios when attending to Damen and his injuries after Kastor’s final draw on him. Damen should expect this of him, even if it was for another man.

“Will you take me to him?” Laurent asked, “After this?”

And before Damen could give him that /look/—

“He is my dearest and only /friend/, Damianos,” Laurent made very clear, so as not to have his motive twisted. “It is my fault this has happened to him. I should see him.”

* * *

“You were both ill,” Damen reminded him. He hated the way Laurent sounded so suddenly worried. The last thing he wanted was to let Laurent near Fynn when he was still weak from his own illness—not to mention Fynn’s illness could spread. He had looked worse off than Laurent at dinner.

“I am also your friend,” Damen said, thinking back to the moments just before their first kiss. Perhaps Laurent and Fynn’s first kiss had gone similarly. “And I will not put your health at risk until Paschal permits. It’s dangerous enough for you to be out of your bed to begin with.”

Laurent had put his health at risk far too much already.

“I will visit him. If you’d like to say something to him, perhaps you could write him a note and I can bring it to him.”

He rested a hand on Laurent’s.

“I will not risk you again."

* * *

Laurent did not /argue/, but he clearly did not like the idea of being told he could not visit. He felt he owed an apology at the /very/ least! He had put the both of them in danger with his actions.

But Damen had a point. Fynn was safer away from him for now, and Laurent safer away from Fynn. An illness getting any worse could once more put Vere in danger of losing a king, and Laurent was not yet ready to face that again.

It was difficult to accept that he was no longer invulnerable.

“You are more than my friend, Damen,” Laurent responded instead, looking over to the door, now having to think over what he might say to Fynn.

Whatever it was, it would be better suited in person, Laurent had no doubts.

“I will not use you as a messenger,” Laurent decided, finding Damen’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “You are my king. Unless it was truly /friends/ you desired to be.”

Laurent damn well knew it was not.

* * *

This was the reason Damen hadn’t wanted to say anything about Fynn. He was going to make Laurent worry, and make him put his health at risk again when Fynn should have persuaded Laurent not to go out into the storm alone.

He was thankful he wouldn’t be used as a messenger though. The thought of it sounded horrible to him, especially if he had to read it aloud to Fynn, who would probably be too sick to read it himself. He didn’t want to hear what fond things Laurent had to say about him.

“I intend to be your husband,” Damen replied. “Fynn will recover, if only so he can see your face again. He forced himself to come to dinner with that in mind, I am sure.”

He was tired, and cranky. He wanted Laurent in his arms, but couldn’t have him. He wasn’t sure it would even feel the same after knowing he’d kissed another man just the night before.

He thumbed the side of Laurent’s palm.

“Shall we go back to the bedchamber?"

* * *

Fynn was a fool to have gone to dinner despite his illness.

Laurent was a fool to not have tried.

How must that look to Fynn? To his people? A sick courtier showing up while their king was amiss.

Laurent pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, focused on breathing for a few moments.

That was not something he could worry himself with now. There were much larger issues at hand.

“I suppose,” Laurent relented on his time away from bed, refusing any offered help as he stood. His legs were sturdy, his stance strong. He had the cloak back on in a moment, draped in the regal red of Damianos of Akielos.

Back in his room, Laurent waffled about for as long as he could. He had no desire to go back to that bed so quickly, but he knew Damen would have a fit if he did not agree to. He at least grabbed up a book on the way, though he had no right or time to read it. It was merely the idea that he was well enough to /not/ sleep that he was trying to convey.

“Sit with me,” Laurent asked of Damen, patting the bed beside him. “I wish to speak with you before you do something stupid like trying to leave.”


	10. Part I: Salt In The Wound (12.7.20)

Damen tried not to think about Laurent’s last words for him as he returned to his chambers. Thankfully, he was so tired that it did not keep him awake—as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was lost to sleep. Even his dreams were dark with no real substance.

When he woke, he momentarily felt for Laurent and sat upright when he was not there. Of course, the reality that he was sleeping in the guest’s chambers dawned on him a moment later, but that didn’t change his worry. He stretched, squinting when the sun from the windows momentarily blinded him.

He had hoped to make breakfast, but instead it was time for him to wake Laurent to see if he wanted lunch.

Once he had dressed, Pallas informed him that Leopold had seen to Fynn, and his condition was no better—perhaps worse than the night before. Damen’s stomach sank.

“He has a burning fever and difficulty breathing,” Pallas explained as Damen made the short walk to Laurent’s chambers.

“Will he survive?” Damen asked in the same tone he discussed war plans.

“He is still strong, but it will depend on how long the sickness lasts,” Pallas replied, nodding to Laurent’s guard.

Damen frowned and stood in place as Pallas approached, knocking on the door twice before entering. Courting rules were vile.

“Your majesty,” Pallas greeted with a bow. “King Damianos is here to see if you are feeling better."

* * *

Damen tried not to think about Laurent’s last words for him as he returned to his chambers. Thankfully, he was so tired that it did not keep him awake—as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was lost to sleep. Even his dreams were dark with no real substance.

When he woke, he momentarily felt for Laurent and sat upright when he was not there. Of course, the reality that he was sleeping in the guest’s chambers dawned on him a moment later, but that didn’t change his worry. He stretched, squinting when the sun from the windows momentarily blinded him.

He had hoped to make breakfast, but instead it was time for him to wake Laurent to see if he wanted lunch.

Once he had dressed, Pallas informed him that Leopold had seen to Fynn, and his condition was no better—perhaps worse than the night before. Damen’s stomach sank.

“He has a burning fever and difficulty breathing,” Pallas explained as Damen made the short walk to Laurent’s chambers.

“Will he survive?” Damen asked in the same tone he discussed war plans.

“He is still strong, but it will depend on how long the sickness lasts,” Pallas replied, nodding to Laurent’s guard.

Damen frowned and stood in place as Pallas approached, knocking on the door twice before entering. Courting rules were vile.

“Your majesty,” Pallas greeted with a bow. “King Damianos is here to see if you are feeling better."

* * *

Damen couldn’t hear what Laurent had said to Pallas, but he could tell by the look on the man’s face that it had been insulting. He could also tell that Pallas was fighting every bit of protocol in his being not to say something cruel about Laurent in front of his king. Damen just rolled his eyes.

“He is awake,” Pallas finally said with only a little bit of annoyance leaking out.

Damen smiled and patted his shoulder as he passed. “Thank you.”

Upon entering Laurent’s chambers, he found the Veretian king surrounded by paperwork that required his attention, stacks and stacks from their time away and the past few days.

“He was doing as I asked,” Damen said, crossing to Laurent. “There is no need to be cruel.” He looked quite handsome in his casual attire—very handsome, actually. Damen was tempted to remove his tunic just to marvel at him.

He offered his hand once he had arrived at Laurent’s side. “Come. Lunch has been prepared. You need to eat something."

* * *

“You asked for permission to enter your own chambers?” Laurent asked, taking the offered hand and using it as leverage to rise from the floor. “That is utterly unnecessary. You set him up for ridicule.”

Laurent felt much older in his recovering body - a sure sign he was not fully back to himself - but he was doing all he could. He just needed to stand still for a moment there with Damen as the dark spots danced in his vision.

Yes, lunch would probably be a fine idea.

He shook it off with a reassuring pat to Damen’s arm, moved over to his trunk to fish out a jacket for the day. Laurent clearly intended to be seen by his people today, well or not. He felt fine enough to move down the hall to eat outside of his chambers if only just to quell a few rumours.

“You look like you slept,” Laurent commented said he laced up the front of his jacket, his eyes moving from lace to his betrothed and back again. It was a simple enough assessment, but Laurent did not make small talk regularly. There was something behind it, though he was not making it clear as to what.

* * *

“They are not my chambers during this competition, you know that,” Damen said. “All of my things have been removed.” He helped Laurent to his feet, noting that his body was still moving a with some sluggishness. He was not well yet. But hopefully he did not develop the sickness that Fynn had.

Damen waited patiently, allowing Laurent to feel in control of something as he put on his jacket and began to lace it up. The comment about his having slept made Damen immediately lift a brow. No, Laurent did not make small talk.

“I did sleep,” Damen replied, folding his arms over his chest. “I could have done without a walk in the middle of it, but yes, I did sleep. Did you?”

He looked at the shuttered windows. “How about the weather? Will it snow today?”

He just knew Laurent wanted to ask about Fynn. He just knew.

* * *

“Walks are good for the both of us,” Laurent replied easily, fingers still working at his lacings. He supposed he could have gone with a chiton today, but...well, he did plan on going to see Fynn.

Just as he very much planned to ask about him. When the time was right.

“Snow is unlikely,” Laurent responded by way of the ongoing small talk. “After a storm like that, we usually see a break in snow. We will probably have a few dry cold days.”

The snow would take a while to melt, but paths would be easy enough to clear for those who still needed to work, to travel. Laurent would send a gift to the Lord who had kept himself and Fynn after the storm, to the messenger who had delivered the news to Damen. He’d already signed both letters.

“I have a letter for the boy I would like sent with your papers,” Laurent added as he crossed to the desk to a sealed piece of parchment. It was heavy, clearly filled with something other than just parchment. Laurent had enclosed some Akielon coin, along with a small vile of Veretian perfume. The boy had demanded anything Laurent could give of his uncles, but Laurent had no interest in acquiescing to that.

In short, Laurent was pointing out that he hadn’t slept - not well without Damen anyway. Not with all he’d had the time to do.

“To lunch, then,” Laurent told Damen, “and then we should visit Fynn. I would like to see his condition.”

* * *

Laurent further entertained him with answering his trivial questions about the weather. Damen couldn’t believe it. He had no interest in hearing about expected snowfall or if the days would be dry. He wanted to take Laurent to lunch and make sure he got good food in his belly.

He also wanted to make sure Laurent dropped the idea of seeing Fynn.

“Absolutely not,” Damen said with a shake of his head. “He has worsened overnight. His fever has escalated and he is having trouble breathing—but Leopold is caring for him along with his own physicians. You are to stay away, especially while you are not fully recovered.”

He didn’t want to start a fight, but he would not allow Laurent to see Fynn in such a state.

“Perhaps we can stand in the doorway and you can speak to him from there, but not closer.”

He had only glanced at the letter to go back to Akielos, then he was talking both of Laurent’s hands. He dared to lift his hand to caress Laurent’s cheek in an attempt to soothe him.

“You are too precious to me to risk sickness just to be a good friend,” Damen murmured.

* * *

“I have so few opportunities to be a good friend,” Laurent told Damen, letting his new sink in.

Fynn had worsened. That deeply troubled Laurent, and he did not feel the necessity in hiding it in his expression. Worry crossed his face, right alongside guilt - a tilt in his brows, a soft set to his jaw. He very much knew that /this/ was his fault as well.

“The doorway will suffice,” Laurent agreed, grateful for the compromise. He owes it to Fynn to check in, after all.

And Laurent had to admit that there was a part of him that needed to show to Fynn that /he/ was fine, that /he/ had made it, even if it was not all true. Laurent just wanted to show that he had come out on the other side of this, that his actions were childish, but that he was a grown man now. That he was strong. Like Auguste.

“After we eat,” Laurent agreed, pressing a bold kiss to Damen’s palm before turning away to grab his boots. He slipped into them quickly, finishing off his outfit and, miraculously, looking quite out together, as if nothing had ailed him. A close eye could catch a few inconsistencies, a few tells to his physical state, but Laurent buried them as deep as he needed to.

It would only be a short adventure about the palace, and then he would return here to his work.

And to his bed.

* * *

Lunch was already ruined. Damen knew Laurent would be preoccupied with Fynn, worrying and fretting over his health. It was the perfect play by Fynn and he hadn’t even meant to do it. Once again, Damen felt bested, like a second-rate courtier.

The court was glad to see Laurent when they arrived for lunch, but Damen merely pushed his food around his plate, no longer hungry.

So few opportunities to be a good friend.

_Is that what we are? Friends?_

Lady Vannes was still talking about misbehaving pets at the party, Jeurre still rolling his eyes about it all. Damen had a full bowl of soup, a full slice of bread. He had no idea if Laurent was even going to allow him to come with him to se Fynn. Likely not. It would be too personal. Too intimate to have him butting in.

“I’m not feeling well,” Damen said absently to Laurent, rubbing his temple. He wasn’t even sure why he said it, but he wanted it known. “Perhaps I’ll go back to our chambers—er, I’ll go back to my chambers after lunch."

* * *

Laurent did not speak much at lunch, but he truly never did. He didn’t usually take lunch with his court, but appearances had to be made, and rumours had to be quelled.

Vannes at least did not have much to say to him. She had been the one Laurent had been the most worried about, but it seemed she was still in a sour sort when it came to losing a competition she very much believed she had the rights of victory in.

Jeurre also took a silence, only greeting Laurent with well wishes and checking on his health before returning to his meal.

Laurent’s court knew better than to talk to him /now/. Not when his face was set in such a way of a tyrant, silently daring anyone to say something out of turn. This was not a council session, it was lunch. No one wanted to ruin an otherwise fine day with poking Laurent the wrong way.

But it was just a resting face, truly, something Laurent put on without thinking, and something he dropped just as quickly upon hearing Damen’s ailment.

He gave Damen a quizzical look, his brows raising just as they had when Laurent heard Fynn had worsened, as if Damen might explain further. Should he call for Paschal? Had Damen caught something from Fynn? From Laurent? Was it merely a headache?

Surely Damen did not actually mean to go to his /guest/ chambers.

“We will go to see Paschal,” Laurent decided without room for discussion. It was not as if Laurent would have this conversation in front of others.

* * *

Damen nodded solemnly. He didn’t want to see Paschal. He wanted to forget about Fynn and kiss his betrothed freely. All of the allure of a secret relationship had been blown out in a matter of days. Stealing Laurent away between meals would never happen because Laurent would be off with Fynn or in a sour mood or sick.

If Fynn died, Laurent would never forgive himself and would probably feel like his ability to love was so tarnished he could never be with the likes of Damianos again.

“It’s just a headache,” Damen said after a moment, shaking his head. “I need to be in the quiet of my chambers and all will be well.”

It wouldn’t, but he didn’t actually have a headache, either.

He longed for home. Ios never brought him strife like Arles did. And Laurent wouldn’t have to entertain silly dukes or freeze himself (or said dukes) to death.

* * *

It was just a headache.

It was a headache, though Damen showed no signs of such an ailment. His eyes were focused, albeit tired, his brow relaxed, his temperature just fine when Laurent checked with the back of his hand.

“You are distressed, then,” Laurent murmured knowingly, his voice losing the softness that came with his earlier unease. It almost became accusatory. “Not ill.”

Damen should know better than to try such a thing with Laurent. Laurent did not lie being lied to, especially when there /was/ very much an illness to be worried about here.

And to be honest, Damen /deciding/ to feign a headache to get some alone time? Laurent didn’t like that one bit. He could feel something between them unhinging, could feel something pulled right as if trying to break.

So Laurent would have to tug back.

In his own time.

“To your chambers, then,” he told Damen. “I will visit the Herzog, and then I will see Paschal to your chambers. We cannot be too careful.”

* * *

“I can’t imagine why,” Damen muttered, continuing to move his food around his plate. He didn’t care if he was truly ill or not—his heart was beginning to feel sick. Even when Laurent wanted him at his side, wanted to share a bed with him, he would think of Fynn. A man he had kissed. A man he had shared history with. Perhaps Fynn had been his first kiss all those years ago?

He had wanted Laurent to go to see Fynn alone, but finally hearing him say it made Damen feel even worse.

So, he simply nodded his agreement and swirled his spoon in his soup. This damned competition. Even when he felt okay with it, the moment Laurent stepped away of spoke of Fynn, his confidence shattered.

Paschal would need to check Laurent far before he looked at Damen, especially after he entered a room where Fynn was ill and spewing sickness all over it.

“Please do not venture beyond the door,” Damen pleaded quietly. “Fynn will recover, we do not need you catching whatever he has."

* * *

“I told you I would not,” Laurent said /too/ calmly, which was an absolute warning. They had already had this conversation today, and Laurent could not do it again. He could deal with Damen’s soft heart, but he could not deal with repetition, with being treated like a child. Laurent would not have it.

“See that you are in bed when I arrive with Paschal,” Laurent said to Damen as he rose from his seat, brushed his jacket down once and strode right out. He loved Damen, and he would see that he did amend what was happening between them, but he could not do that sitting here among Vannes and Jeurre and the few others who had joined. Things just needed to look normal, like they were coexisting as well as ever. Damen just needed to ply his part as well.

“Do you think the Herzog gave him those bruises?” Lady Vannes asked as soon as Laurent was out of the room, just loud enough for Damen to hear. “Or do you think the Akielon king finally gave him what he deserved?”

Jeurre did not answer.

Laurent made his choice to see Fynn first, but he did pass Paschal on the way.

“Your highness— “the physician started upon seeing Laurent upright, walking without chaperone. He had not been difficult to find, as everywhere he stepped looking as he did alerted /someone/. Paschal had only needed to follow the whispers. “Your Highness, your bed— “

“Meet me there in a moment,” Laurent dismissed. “I will only need a moment with Fynn.”

“He is ill,” Paschal said by way of denying Laurent the visit. He was practically having to jog down the hallway to keep up with his king. “You are not well enough to— “

The Kemptian guards instantly parted for Laurent and swung open the guest chamber doors, releasing the almost stifling heat within.

Laurent stood precisely where he’d been told by Damen to stand. No closer.

Paschal shook his head and squeezed inside, heading over to Leopold’s side. The two physicians had become close, having to deal with the likes of their respectable kings as they did.

“Is he awake?” Laurent asked, his voice thick with both the pressure in the room from the heat as well as the smell of illness.

* * *

Damen boiled. He shot Lady Vannes his most venomous glare and stood abruptly from the table.

“One more comment like that and I will show the lot of you that Laurent is was kind in his punishment of Cylan,” Damen boomed. “Instead of sulking in your defeat, Lady Vannes, perhaps finding a way to further the legislation you were seemingly so passionate about would be a better use of your time.”

Fynn was also boiling, but in a very different way. He knew he had a furious fever, but he still felt so cold. His whole body trembled, and his weakening lungs could hardly work past it.

A damp, roaring wheezing filled the air, laborious and sickly. Fynn could see shaped and shadow, but not much else. He saw Paschal but heard Laurent’s voice.

“La—Laurent?” he forced out, fighting a bout of gurgling coughs. He floundered for Laurent, gripping Paschal’s arm. “Are you well? Are you— “

His eye rolled back, fever consuming him all at once.

Leopoldo frowned. “He is very weak, Your Majesty.”

* * *

Laurent very quickly forgot his agreement with Damen.

Standing at the door did not seem right in a moment like this, and Fynn could barely hear him as it was! He needed to be closer, needed to speak with him so he knew Laurent was there.

And much better off than him.

“How could he be like this?” Laurent asked, standing behind the physicians, who seemed a decent distance away in Laurent’s eyes. At least he’d put something between himself and the illness, which had worsened far past his. Fynn /had/ taken the brunt of the cold, Laurent supposed, and that might have explained his worsening health.

Just being in the room was making Laurent cough, the wet air and all that.

The coughing made his rib ache.

“Your highness— “Paschal started again, but Laurent was hardly listening.

“What is wrong with him?” He asked. “What does he need? I can have it here within the hour.”

Fynn looked terrible. Absolutely terrible. Damp with sweat, gaunt, weak. Laurent had taken dark circles under his youthful eyes, but Fynn’s were pigmented terribly under the fire light of the room. His breathing was wet, laboured, a constant wheeze. His skin appeared a sickly white Laurent had only ever seen on the dead.

It stirred something sickening in Laurent’s gut as he tried to really assess what /he/ could do here, as if there were anything. This was Auguste’s best friend! This was what Laurent had left of what little good there had been after Damen had—

After Auguste had died.

Oh, if he were alive, he’d kill Laurent for this.

* * *

Leopold had no answer. “I have seldom seen it, but it does appear to be brought on by cold and dampness. He simply may have reacted differently than you did when exposed to the same conditions.”

What he didn’t say is that he had never seen a man survive it. Fynn had fluid building up in his lungs, a fever raging that would not go down—and he could not be moved to the baths or made colder without going into shock.

“There is nothing to be done, Your Majesty,” Leopold said. “I have given him medicine to dull the pain, but I cannot dull all of it for fear he will sleep too deeply. He is very ill, and I fear it will worsen before it improves.”

Fynn started into a fit of coughing, and Leopold quickly moved him to his side, where a bowl was already in place to collect the fluid coughed into it. Fynn’s body was tired. His muscles strained and quivered just to cough, and his lungs could not seem to pump air.

“Your Majesty,” Leopold said. “You should not be near him until you have fully recovered. Such a sickness preys on those already compromised."

* * *

This was Laurent’s luck, truly. He did not get to keep /people/, and oh, was this a good reason not to try. Here he was now, losing Damen and Fynn all in one moment, and while doing his best to keep his kingdom to hold his kingdom together, he would now have to hold /them/ together as well.

And it was his fault. He knew it.

Auguste never would have done this to Laurent purposefully, and Laurent would never curse his brother in good faith, but this was a lot to juggle. Laurent didn’t feel like he’d ever be able to catch his breath, illness or none.

Fynn had literally just come back into his life...

“If he dies, I’ll have you flogged,” Laurent warned both physicians, suddenly cold. “He will be attended to all hours and I will be reported to on /any/ activity regarding his health.”

“Your majesty— “ Paschal started, but Laurent cut him off.

“You are to stay here. With him. You are under the same orders.”

Laurent did not need the attention Fynn did. If he fell ill again, then he would call Paschal to him, but not before. He knew what danger he had put Vere in, but Laurent could navigate his own health as he always had. If in terrible shape, he could turn to Lady Vannes and her concoctions, but until then, he just needed to get some air, rest his head, try to...reason with all of this.

“Anything he needs, he receives,” Laurent added. “If there is resistance, notify me immediately. I will not have war with Kempt over poor medical treatment.”

And he left with that, heaving a heavy breath of much cooler, lighter air outside of the room. He was undoing the laces of his jacket before he even made it to Damen’s room—

Where Pallas was standing guard. He did not seem happy to see Laurent, especially not after this morning.

“I will alert the King of Akielos to your presence,” Pallas said evenly, in such a way that suggested a challenge of pride. “Please wait here.”

* * *

Damen had actually returned to his bedchamber and could not find the energy to even remove his boots before he slept. His body was no longer tired, but his mind was. He simply didn’t know what to do. He hated wishing death on any man, especially someone so close to Laurent—and it wasn’t as if he actually wanted Fynn to die. But having him return to Kempt after his sickness would be much better for everyone.

He /thought/ he could handle this. but every time Laurent talked of Fynn or looked away wistfully, he shattered inside. He hated it. As king of Akielos, he should be stronger.

“Exalted,” Pallas said, waking him from where he had been dozing on the couch by the fire. Damned Arles was still too cold. “King Laurent has arrived. He wishes to see you.”

Damen flicked his hand, gesturing for him to be allowed in. Pallas opened the door and stepped aside to allow Laurent entry, barely concealing a smirk as he did so.

It wasn’t hard to put together what had happened. Laurent was alone, which meant Fynn had been bad enough that Paschal had been ordered to stay with him. But it also meant Fynn wasn’t yet dead.

Laurent also looked worse. Fatigued.

“Could I convince you to sleep here?” Damen asked with a small smile. He opened his arms for Laurent to come to him. “Come and rest."

* * *

Laurent certainly needed no convincing.

He shucked his jacket right off into the floor and climbed right into Damen’s arms, tall boots still on and all. Laurent tried to keep some dignity about it, tried not to act like all he wanted was to be in Damen’s arms, but what was the point in that? He knew at this very moment, even in bed with Laurent, Damen was worried about being wanted, about being replaced. Laurent may as well be honest with his desires.

“/This/ is what they gave you to sleep on?” Laurent asked gruffly, his face all but buried straight into Damen’s chest. He probably would have delved straight into it if it were not so difficult to breathe. “And you insist on following the rules despite?”

It wasn’t the conversation he’d wanted to have, but Laurent’s usual facade of indifference and coolness had to shine through before anything else could. A fail safe. He still could not even shake it with Damen.

The conversation he actually wanted to have was a toss up between none at all and:

“You lied to me about feeling ill. Why?”

* * *

Whatever state Fynn had been in, it seemed to have greatly affected Laurent. Damen held him close, taking comfort in Laurent’s health. He would have been livid if Laurent was the one so close to death. The kingdom would be tearing itself apart already, and he would not have been able to pull it together. He had no idea what he would have done.

“You gave me this to sleep on,” Damen chuckled. He kissed Laurent’s hair, moving his hand to gently thumb at Laurent’s cheek. “I follow the rules so that I may keep your hand.”

He needed Laurent in his life. He had no one else so close to him.

“I lied about having a headache,” Damen said. “Not about feeling ill. The headache was to stop you from thinking I was coming down with your sickness.”

Laurent loathed being lied to, but Damen loathed when he kissed another man.

“My mind throbs. I can’t stop picturing the two of you. I can’t help but feel you are slipping away from me, even when you promise me you aren’t."

* * *

/This/ was what being in a /relationship/ was, Laurent realised. These conversations, these reassurances, these moments of vulnerability, of kindness. It took a lot for Laurent not to mock Damen’s worries, but luckily, he was in just the mood to compromise with Damen on this. He had too many other issues to worry about - he did not need to add breaking his tether to Damen from the list.

“The kiss was a mistake,” Laurent said /again/, but he kept the attitude out of it. He tried to remain calm, caring, /soft/. “It was an urge left over from my youth.”

And then, after a beat.

“I did not lie when I told you I had never been kissed before.”

Laurent had lied about many other things, yes, but he thought that counted for something. Especially in the place they were in when he confessed that to Damen.

Kissing Fynn had been something Laurent had fantasised about doing /many/ times in his adolescence, back when Auguste was running around having his trysts and all that. Fynn had been handsome and kind, and Laurent had found himself infatuated. It had, admittedly, carried over, but he had learned that that was all it was - albeit a bit late.

“I am only going as far away as you push me, Damianos.”

* * *

Damen still hurt, even when he heard that he had been the first to kiss Laurent. Maybe he had been the first, but he doubted he was the only any longer. He didn’t even want to ask, because he wasn’t sure he cold stomach it. That wasn’t fair, of course, because Damen had kissed and been kissed by so many people. But none of that had happened while he and Laurent were in a relationship.

To hear Laurent had felt the urge to kiss Fynn in their youth—that he /was/ the childhood crush of the princeling of Vere. That Laurent might very well have thought about his desire to kiss Fynn the moment he saw him in the dining hall the first night he saw him.

“I did not push you to kiss him,” Damen said quietly. “And you are allowed to push back, you know.”

This wasn’t all on him. He would not be blamed if Laurent left him for Fynn.

“We are stuck in this competition, but…even without the kiss, I feel I cannot compete. He has Auguste on his side, he has his past with you. And now he is ill and likely searching for you.” Even with Laurent in his lap, he felt that Laurent would rather be with Fynn, caring for him. “Who am I to deny a man suffering? So, you will bond with him even more, rekindle what you yearned for in your youth."

* * *

“I’ve no /interest/ in rekindling an infatuation from my /youth/,” Laurent groaned in exasperation, rolling off Damen and onto his back. There would be no compromise on Damen’s end, it seemed.

“It came from a different place in me than kisses with my other suitors, yes, but I was still in control, Damen. It was not like when you kiss me, when I do not /feel/ the need or desire for all control.”

Surely, Damen would understand what that meant for him - what it meant for Laurent.

Laurent had kissed many men, yes, but none had kissed /him/ as Damen had. None had loved him as Damen had. Laurent had loved none as he had Damen.

This was not the conversation Laurent wanted to have at all.

“Tell me what I have done to make you doubt me so,” Laurent went on, that sharp tongue of his beginning to cut into the moment, right through his soft tone. “I have given you honesty, I have given you reassurance. I gave him a single kiss. I have given you my /heart/, and you think /he/ has the power in this?”

* * *

They were going down a familiar track. They would fight again, accomplish nothing but more hurt and loneliness. Damen still felt raw, his heart not yet salved from the deep cut of hearing Laurent had kissed another man. That feeling that they were drifting further and further apart.

“It isn’t anything you’ve done,” Damen said quietly. He folded his hands in his lap, hurt once more that Laurent had rolled away from him.

“It’s a feeling,” he continued. He didn’t know how to put it into words, it was just something that hurt in him. A dull, constant pain in his chest that felt something like doom. “It isn’t…It’s not doubt. But I do feel that you’re drifting from me, and try as I might, I cannot get you back. Each time I see you we end up in an argument, even before the kiss. Since he arrived, you’ve seemed colder to me. You scold me for being hurt, for not liking Fynn even when it’s clear he doesn’t like me either.”

Any energy he’d regained was quickly leaving him. His eyelids grew heavy, his brain started to feel the fatigue again.

“You almost died and one of the first things you said to me was about him. You tell me you want to end this competition, yet it does not seem that way. It does not seem like you are truly prepared to send him back to Kempt once he is recovered if that were even a possibility."

* * *

“I am not /drifting/,” Laurent tried to cut in the moment Damen took a breath, but Damen steamrolled over him with his continued thought, which Laurent had to sit through. He needed to hear this, needed to listen to what Damen saw as their issues here—

And he needed to stay in a good enough mood to deal with them /calmly/.

It wasn’t easy.

Damen was speaking for him again, acting so confidently like he understood Laurent’s mind, though Laurent had never felt so misunderstood by Damen since they had truly gotten to know one another. Laurent had /said/ he wanted to end the competition because he /had/ wanted to! He was not just making things up to assuage Damen’s woes.

There were a million things Laurent could say to that. He could tell Damen that his feeling was ridiculous. He could tell Damen that they merely were still under the stress of his return to Arles. He could tell Damen that where it felt as if Laurent had grown colder, it was not true, that Laurent simply had a friend to give his time to now and his every thought and action did not revolve around Damen. He could have said a million things that might have been better than what he ended up ultimately /doing/.

Laurent grit his jaw, couldn’t believe they were still at this. Damen said he didn’t feel doubt, but that’s exactly what it was. Doubt. In /them/!

He had told Damen once that he lacked the mannerisms of a lover. He had told Damen that he had been a child more interested in books than in companionship. Damen had watched Laurent literally find it in himself to love someone, watched him grow into someone who could. Damen had come into this with all the warnings, and he was going to let one /duke/ allow this rift?

So, Laurent did what he always did.

He bit back.

“A feeling—“ Laurent started with venom as he climbed out of the bed, his fingers aggressively tugging free the laces of his shirt, ridding himself of it in a swift movement and moving to his pants. The bruises still mottled his skin, travelled up his side, and without the billowing of his under shirt, his shallow breathing was more evident in the quickened up and down movement of his chest.

His boots hindered the removal of his pants, but they were removed easily enough - and kicked halfway across the room - and then Laurent stood there bare, arms open, body offered up.

“Is this what makes a lover?” Laurent asked, cold and clipped. “Will /this/ make you feel more /special/, Damianos? Better than /him/?”

* * *

Damen knew what Laurent was going to do the moment he got out of bed, and it angered him. Once again, Laurent was diminishing him to a beast who only desired a body to fuck. That would always be the sentiment in Vere, no matter how often he proved himself good, no matter how often he cared for Laurent or steadied his hand.

Somewhere in Laurent’s mind he would always be the lust-driven fool he had been before his enslavement. He would be the barbaric man who wanted to see the end of Vere.

“I thought you had grown up,” Damen growled. “But apparently I am still trying to reason with a princeling.”

He stood quickly, all but towering over Laurent as he yanked the covers from the bed and slung it around Laurent’s shoulders none too nicely. It also served as a way to secure him there, and Damen’s large hand did the job well enough that he could still keep his other hand free.

“I hope you never have to learn the limit of my tolerance for your jabs. My tolerance of your insults and wordplay used to make me feel as though I should apologize. /I/ didn’t kiss anyone. /I/ didn’t abandon you at a party. /I/ didn’t ask for another man the moment you revived me.”

Damen adjusted the blanket a little more around Laurent’s shoulders.

“And if you insist on being cruel, don’t pick the dead horse you’ve already flayed to bits.”

With a last tug of the blanket, Damen stepped back, staring intently at Laurent. He would not back down in this fight. He was through being blamed.

* * *

Laurent had found himself restrained in mere seconds, having honestly not expected Damen to be so bold. It had been some time since Laurent had been likened to a snake, but stuck there with such a detestable look on his face, unable to smoothly remove himself from the cocoon, he may as well have been hissing and spitting venom. Damen had him, and had happened upon a comment that truly seemed to get under his betrothed’s skin.

Whether it was the jab at his maturity or the allusion to the flogging, it wasn’t clear.

Laurent was hurt - deservedly so - but he has never been the one to show it in a way that would have de-escalated a fight. Instead of letting it truly hit him, that /this/ was the fight he was having with Damen, he pushed through any realisation he could have and settled on anger.

“I won’t need to,” Laurent taunted, holding the blanket around himself now. “My council will do all the flaying. Or have you forgotten all I have done to bolster you in this country? Have you forgotten all I have faced to have you at my side? All that I /willingly/ faced?”

Laurent advanced on Damen. He had never backed down in front of him before, even with the knowledge that he could not take Damen in a fair fight. He had no intention of fighting Damen, but...well, should Damen hit such a limit, Laurent had a bit more training behind him now.

“I /kissed/ a /friend/,” Laurent went on, and though his voice mimicked calm, the grit from both his sickness and his ire shown through. “I /fucked/ an /enemy/. /The/ enemy. And I never apologised for it. I would not undo the action if I could. I was tried for /treason/, and nearly /executed/ for it, and yet I still have the plans to marry you. You would let a /kiss/ undo that?”

And Laurent /spat/ at him.

It was a reflex, a knee-jerk reaction. Laurent had so much anger festering inside of him. He had not been so disgusted in Damen in so long—

Nor in himself.

Laurent hurled the blanket with as much force as could be put behind it directly at Damen and made for his clothing, snatching it up from the ground.

* * *

The enemy. Animal or Princekiller. Or maybe he was both in Laurent’s eyes behind all of the history they had together. Damen had hated Laurent when they first met, when he had only seen this vile side of him. It was doubly infuriating because it wasn’t truly Laurent. It was the Veretian in him, the only manipulated and abused by the Regent.

Warm spit landed on his chest and Damen immediately boiled over. If he’d been angry before, he was livid now. Immediately his blood went hot, his eyes narrowed, and his hands curled to fists at his side.

Oh no, Laurent was not just going to run off down the hall naked.

The blanket thwapped his chest and fell to the floor in a pile of fabric that Damen stepped right over. He closed the space between them in two strides and lashed out, his fingers curling tight in Laurent’s hair (harder to grip now that it was short). He yanked him backward with enough force to topple him, but caught Lauren in the curve of his arm before he could fall.

“You will not spit at me and run off like a scorned whore,” Damen snarled.

Laurent was still sick, and even if he hadn’t been, Damen knew he was easy to carry even when struggling. Damen scooped him up and threw Laurent over his shoulder like a wounded soldier, daring him to scratch at his scars.

“You are to stay in bed. You’ve done quite enough to ruin your health today."

* * *

Again, Laurent doubted Damen - doubted his anger, his drive, his limits. He’d not even taken a defensive stance when Damen approached, having expected him to merely close the gap as he had before—

But then Laurent’s head was being pulled back, and the next thing he knew, he was rendered /completely/ unable to do a goddamn thing, thrown over Damen’s shoulder like a /child/.

The world went upside down and Laurent scrabbled for any escape that he knew he would not find. Damen had and would undoubtedly always have him when it came to strength, and with Laurent doubting Damen would ever do such a thing to him outside of their foreplay and thus having no foresight to deflect, well...he was stuck.

“How /dare/ you!” Laurent spat, using all the core strength he had to try to upright himself, but that only served to hurt his rib, and he went limp with a little grunt of pain, panting into Damen’s marred back. He’d not had to face it this close in his lifetime.

Laurent got one good hit in, right to Damen’s lower back, but it was underhanded, and had little to no actual strength behind it. It thudded against Damen’s muscles dully, and Laurent remained incapacitated, and feeling more foolish by the second.

“Put me /down/!” he hissed, but he did not make contact with Damen’s back again. He merely closed his eyes to keep himself from nausea, half-heartedly kicking his legs for lack of desire in shaming himself further.

* * *

Carrying Laurent over his shoulder wasn’t his idea way to get him back to bed, but Damen saw no other choice. There was a very real chance that Laurent would go for his throat or try to claw his eyes out if he carried him the way Damen usually did. Keeping him slung over his shoulder was also a good way for Laurent to expel his energy without harming himself or anyone else.

“Quit kicking,” Damen muttered, moving down to his knee to shift Laurent onto the mattress. He didn’t give him time to start thrashing though, Damen was quick to hop into bed after him, hands pinning Laurent’s wrists, his hips pinning his legs.

He only just started to feel the sting of where Laurent had hit his back.

Laurent had eyes full of fury--they could hold so much anger. Damen was once again reminded that his upbringing had been very different from the man beneath him. When Damen had been angry, it was always for a reason, and he always had Kastor to fight with him or hold him back from the fray.

Laurent had been on his own for half his life. 

“You would not undo it?” Damen asked, referring to when Laurent had said he would not apologize for sleeping with the enemy. “Even if your friend wanted you to?"

* * *

“He /has/ asked me to!” Laurent seethed, straining in the very few places he could when Damen had him like this. All of that Akielon wrestling training, and Laurent had allowed himself to be pinned. Gone was the cool insouciance of Laurent’s usual self. He was instead taken over by more anger and hurt than his body could contain.

It would not have been the first time Damen had seen him like this. The last time, Laurent had a hand full of sand and a knife at his side.

Both times, Auguste had been at the centre.

“He has /begged/ me to explain to him how I could allow you here in Arles, how I could ever /think/ to have you, just as all of Vere did! Just as many still do! And I justify it /every single time/!” Laurent turned his unbruised wrist, truly tried to free himself. He wasn’t even sure where he would go if he did get out, wasn’t sure what he would do next.

“You killed his closest friend in Marlas.” A place Laurent now looked /forward/ to visiting, to having as their place of union. The implications in that alone were enough to have him back in that trial, standing on the penalty of death from treason, but he /did it/. Laurent did not hide his love for Damen, moved forward with the plans of uniting when he /knew/ how he would go down in history. “He has no obligation to forgive you as I have, just as he has no obligation to forgive me for what I choose, and— “

Laurent suddenly let out a sound of absolute frustration, his teeth bared, a sound that should have alerted any guard around them. He kicked again, exerting himself, still trying to get Damen off of him.

“Get /off/— “Laurent yelled again, and it sounded /different/ - more frustrated, more /desperate/. Laurent had an absolute arsenal of terrible things to say to Damen, a thousand insults and biting words, but he didn’t /want/ to say them. But he would. He would absolutely eviscerate Damen for this, if only to come out ahead in /some/ way. He would.


	11. Part I: The Thorn

Damen didn’t know why it shocked him so much to hear that Fynn had /already/ asked Laurent to leave him. The audacity of a duke approaching a king with such a treasonous question ought to have earned Fynn a display of Laurent’s newfound cruelty. Despite the trial in Ios that had ended Kastor’s reign where Damen had heard Laurent publicly defend him, it still amazed him that the King of Vere would defend him privately.

For all of Damen’s confidence, he still questioned how Laurent of Vere could be interested in him, let alone defend him in the company of his close friends. From the sounds of it, Laurent was willing to throw away his relationship with Fynn because of who he had chosen.

There was a knock at the door. “Exalted?”

Damen was quick. He kept his hold on Laurent’s good wrist and moved both up above his head. Because Laurent’s wrists were small enough, Damen transferred both of them to one hand. Laurent was going to /kill/ him.

Still, Damen smiled sweetly as he used his free hand to cover Laurent’s mouth, wary of his teeth.

“All is well, Pallas,” Damen said, but he knew Pallas would have to come in anyway.

Sure enough, the door opened and he heard Pallas step inside. “I heard shouting.”

“A disagreement,” Damen said, turning to look over his shoulder. “Now, will you let me make amends with my betrothed?”

Palla’s face went red as he noticed their positions. “Yes, of course—my apologies to you both.”

Once the door was shut again, Damen sighed.

“I will get off of you if you promise to stay in bed.”

With that, Damen removed his hand from Laurent’s mouth.

* * *

Laurent /was/ going to kill him.

Of course the Akielon guard would be so dismissive - /that/ would be something they needed to discuss later. Had it been Jord, Damen would have—

Well, Damen could easily take on Jord, so Laurent would still be here, but then this could have all easily dissolved into an act of treason and—

“How /dare/ you—” Laurent hissed again when he had his right to speak returned. Damen was lucky Laurent had not taken a bite out of his palm.

Had this been an actual dispute, Pallas would have just let him suffer here without so much as an interjection. Laurent would remember that...and would now need to re-evaluate the use of Akielon guards for his protection. He did not think Damen would be so foolish as to do this again, but...better to stay a step ahead than a step behind. Again.

With his mouth freed, and the offer for further freedom there in his face, Laurent swallowed down every scathing remark he had, evened his temper, and said with all the malice he still had, “Get /off/ me, Damianos.”

* * *

Damen didn’t move off right away. He hated fighting. With Laurent it was particularly difficult, because he as so stubborn that even in the face of indisputable fact he would turn up his aristocratic nose and find a way to continue his argument. They had yet to disagree on things concerning their kingdoms, but that was mostly because they were still separate in their duties to each one.

“Don’t make any judgments about Pallas,” Damen warned as he slid off of Laurent. “He stayed up with me when I cared for you while you were unconscious, and while I sat up worrying about you. If he knew anything about what occurred with Fynn, I assure you he would not have left.”

He wasn’t so sure that was comforting, but Damen and Laurent quarreling in their bedchamber wasn’t so uncommon. And Laurent wasn’t wearing clothes, which was par for the course of a normal night with them.

He inspected his palm that had been over Laurent’s mouth. “I am surprised you didn’t bite it, and the acid in your voice didn’t burn it away,” he joked, offering a smile.

The air was still unsteady between them, and Damen still had his guard up in case Laurent came at him hissing, but he also felt a strange since of…being settled. He set his gaze on his hands.

“I had not realized Fynn had already asked you to leave me,” he said quietly. “Thank you for…for standing by my side."

* * *

If Laurent could have burned a hole through Damen’s palm, he probably would have. What Laurent /could/ do was pass judgement on Pallas however, and that was already done.

He stayed very still as Damen slid off of him, gave him back his limbs and freedom, and even when he was completely free, Laurent did not move from the bed. He kept a watchful eye on Damen, wary and sharp, but he did not rise to run or anything of the sort.

Laurent was still angry, still ready to strike, but even he knew when a fight was over. He’d been bested.

But there was still an argument he could win.

“I had chosen your side long before Fynn,” Laurent murmured, snatching up the covers to give himself some decency here. “And I have stood by it ever since, Damen.”

Laurent did not feel the need to comment on the absolute audacity Damen had to doubt or deny that fact. It was already quite clear.

There were few times when a silent Laurent could be considered more noxious than a talking Laurent. At least when he was talking, it was easy to tell he already /had/ a plan and was acting on it. A silent Laurent meant he was in the very act of plotting, of assessing, of measuring his strikes.

* * *

Damen nodded slowly, picking at the threading of his sheets. He was still dressed for lunch, his boots still on but not dirtying the white sheets—he had gone nowhere to track in dirt. In fact, he hadn’t seen outside once today—or yesterday, actually. Perhaps that was why Veretians were so sour, they never saw the sun.

Once more, he longed for home. He wanted to feel the sun on his skin, the sweet nectar of mangoes running down his chin. He wanted to see Laurent in his chiton, riding his horse (Ven, his only true horse) through the fields and orchards of the Akielon countryside.

“You have,” Damen agreed softly.

He continued picking at the sheets, and a thought came to him.

“I think this competition has affected me so greatly because…well, think of how we are seen in public. Most of the kingdom did not know of our relationship until we formally announced it. Our love was built in privacy—which I do not regret.”

“But we are still not very public about how deeply we feel for each other. We hold hands and share an occasional kiss before them, but…even the court thinks I am either still enslaved by you or have bedded you so well that you have abandoned reason.” He looked to the door. “I think Jord, Lucien, Pallas, and Lazar are the only ones who know how inseparable we are.”

He was talking too much, but that was what he did when he didn’t know how to explain himself properly.

“It still stuns me to hear someone I admire and love so dearly would defend me despite what I did. As I am sure it would still shock the people here, and in Akielos. But the Laurent I know in the privacy of our home? You would cut out a man’s tongue for slandering me—because you love me, not to defend my honor as it was with Cylan. The people saw you castrate him to right a wrong he had committed against me, but…”

Oh good, he was still droning on with no point! And Laurent was not in a place to have this discussion anyway.

“Forget it,” Damen dismissed. He put his face in his hands, still exhausted from all of the tension and fighting. “Shall I take you back to your chambers? Since this mattress is made of rocks?"

* * *

As Damen spoke - his voice calm, his words kind - it became more and and more difficult for Laurent to keep the energy behind his ire, the bubbling of his anger. He could feel himself coming down from where Damen had levelled him, could feel his body settling again, and /oh/, did it ache.

While Damen tried to find his point, Laurent eased his breathing, closed his eyes and trusted Damen not to be playing into a ruse, trusted Damen not to try to overpower him again.

“The people seeing my love for you is the /point/ of this competition,” Laurent groaned out, not fully recovered from the fight, an edge still in his voice, but he sounded more defeated than riled up in that moment. “The outcome, even if I don’t secure my union with Kempt, is for people to see en masse that I chose /you/, Damen.”

And Laurent would still face conjecture for it. There would be many who never fully agreed to the union. Civil war had not been ruled out yet, but they could not even worry about that until they were wed.

Well, Laurent could worry about it now, but if things continued as they were, there would be no union to spark such civil unrest.

Laurent really should go back to his room after what just happened. Not only was this against the courting rules Damen had clung to so, but the bed truly was terrible. But Laurent did not feel comfortable going out there right now. He felt that if he left this bubble, he would leave this argument, and if he left this argument, it would live to fracture them another day.

“I will leave when I desire it,” Laurent decided, still perhaps not in his best mood. He wasn’t giving Damen anything - no closure, no further argument, no decompression. He just laid there, his unbruised hand at his face, taking a well-deserved moment.

“What would you have me do, Damen?” Laurent asked, the attitude still there, but still ebbing on the side of defeat. “If not holding hands and kissing, then what? Am I to spread for you in the halls? Am I to scream your name from Ios to Belloy?”

* * *

Their argument had ended somehow, but it didn’t feel resolved. Damen still felt hurt, rubbed raw somehow by the emotion of it all. Laurent didn’t seem to want to be with him, but he didn’t seem to want to leave, either. That perfectly summed up how things had been going lately, Damen supposed.

“Spoken like a Veretian,” Damen muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Affection, Laurent. The kind you show me when we are together—before Fynn. The people should see /that./ Holding my hand and sharing kisses so sparingly…in their eyes, how is that different from what you show Fynn?”

He saw what the people did. He saw the spark of realization, the history, the way Laurent grinned whenever Fynn entered the room or spoke or adjusted one of his stupid feathered hats.

“You will have to show them your weakness for me sometime,” Damen said. “My people know mine for you.”

Nikandros couldn’t keep quiet about it, even now that he marginally trusted Laurent.

“Simply announcing that you have chosen me does little to sway them."

* * *

Laurent was instantly against it.

“You cannot /show/ weakness to Veretians,” Laurent responded. “It is the very history of our people that we prey upon it.”

Veretians took advantage of any opening they could perceive - like the quiet moments of a stalemate during a war, when both sides expected a parlay, only to have the largest defining battle of their countries begin.

Auguste had no weaknesses. Not that he showed to his people, anyway. He died with every last bit of strength he had - Damen had recounted that for Laurent. The people of Vere had never seen him stumble, seen him doubt, seen him at the mercy of any one thing in life.

Laurent was not well-liked enough to risk it.

“You claim to know my people so well, and yet you give such an offer as that...” Laurent scoffed, still staring up at the ceiling.

* * *

Damen wasn’t convinced. “And how would they do that, exactly? The only way I can see is if they committed treason and hurt me somehow. I dare them to try.” Damen saw no reason to hide away pretending they weren’t desperately in love with each other. They were going to be married soon, if Fynn didn’t ruin it all. They were going to unite their kingdoms because they loved each other.

“A kingdom or this,” Damen said absently. “We have risked everything to say ‘both,’ Laurent. Everyone knows what we chose, I think it it time we acted as we truly are.”

He wanted Laurent to love him openly, the way Damen desired to love Laurent. “You always threaten me with that ridiculous consummation—I do not see how I will be able to do that when I am fearful to /kiss/ you too long in front of our courts.”

He knew Laurent could do it—Damen was the bashful one around servants and the guard interrupting their closeness in the bedchamber. Laurent could surely try to act a bit more loving in the face of the crowds.

* * *

What Damen alluded to was just the outcome Laurent feared the most. They had already tried to hurt him, and luckily, Laurent had been aware enough to find the culprit and punish them before any more could have happened.

He should have killed Cylan for what he’d done, truly, but doing so would take the opportunity to catch those most treasonous in his council.

And Damen wanted to show them weakness...

“You showed weakness to your brother,” Laurent said evenly, “just as you showed weakness to Jokaste, and look what they did to you.”

Laurent had down weakness to his uncle, but that did not need to be said here.

“When we are wed, when /you/ are a king of Vere, it can be different,” Laurent told Damen with no room for argument. “But until then, they may believe as they wish. I cannot show them weakness now.”

And Laurent had his reasoning. When Damen was a king of Vere, legally it /would/ be an act of treason should someone harm him to get to Laurent, something punishable in all eyes. Before that, harming Damen could merely be an act of patriotism - doing away with he who took what Vere so loved. That could be supported morally, but at least with a marriage, it could not be condoned legally.

Things were not all /feelings/ here in Vere.

* * *

“I loved them,” Damen returned. “They took that love and used it to betray me. Are you suggesting you will do the same?” His tone was close to the angry one he had used before. Laurent had neared betraying him quite enough already, surely he wouldn’t go so far as to imply there was worse to come.

“Besides. Maybe they see your love as a weakness, but /I/ am not. I took an entire fort on my own, I summoned an army capable of taking down my own brother. And it is no secret that without Akielos, Vere would not last the decade.”

Now this was true courting. Laying out terms and negotiating,

“Fynn could not protect you. He is a duke, and Kempt is too far away to come to your aid. Let’s say you betrayed me and decided to take Fynn as your husband.”

He began to draw a crude map of Arles in the silk sheets, the way he used to discuss war plans with Laurent in his tent so long ago.

“Betraying me would end with me dead,” Damen explained matter-of-factly. “My men would escape if they could and return to Ios. You and Fynn would send messengers to Kempt to rally your men, and you would need almost the entirety of Kempt’s army to even attempt a fight with Akielos.’

He dragged a line toward Ios, another toward Kempt.

“Before your messengers would even be through the mountains, my armies would be gathered in full, eager to take Vere. As you messengers reached Kempt and began the journey back—“

He wiped Arles from his map.

“And they will arrive to a burning palace and your head, and Fynn’s head, on pikes for them to see.”

Damen’s stomach twisted just thinking about it.

“Vere has no standing with Kempt, Laurent. And if it came down to it, Akielos could conquer Vere, even now.”

He moved to recline on his side, propping his head up with his hand, his fingers running up from Laurent’s navel. He loved him so much, and the thought of losing him still made him want to pull Laurent tight to his chest.

“I am your strength, whether you like it or not."

* * *

Laurent had no intentions or even passing thoughts to betray Damen. It was his council he feared the worst from, and surely, Damen knew that. Laurent loved Damen, had just said that and specified very clearly what he had done to show it. Laurent had not even /imagined/ a world without Damen in it—

And Damen had a full scale reality.

Laurent watched Damen’s fingers spell out the demise of him and his people, watched as Damen literally wiped Vere off a map, listened as Damen claimed himself /the/ strength of Vere.

“You think you could take Vere with strength alone,” Laurent said, snatching Damen’s hand off of his body...and holding it in his own. “Without you at the helm? Would it then be Nikandros who led the army, or your brother’s infant child?”

Laurent did not want to talk like this, but he would not be so dismissed in holding his own in battle, in war.

He also did not think his head on a pike was good bedroom talk.

“Is this the conversation you thought would end this fight?” Laurent asked, and he would have been impressed by the thorough disrespect had he not been so offended. “My head on a pike and my country losing to yours? You telling me I’ve a weak kingdom, when it was yours that fell apart from the inside when your brother sent you off to my uncle?”

Laurent threw Damen’s hand back at him, pushed himself up from where he’d been laying.

“I walked you back into Akielos. If not for me, you would not have made it out of this palace. Need I remind you of the /second/ time you were captured? The third? The fourth?”

He’d not stood up yet.

“As I recall, /you/ needed my mind to rescue you from three separate situations, including the moment you used your /strength/ to draw a sword at your own King’s Meet. And you would dare allude to my betraying you after /that/?”

If he’d expected Laurent to just agree with his little speech, he truly did not know the man he was to marry.

* * *

Damen actually laughed when Laurent asked him if he thought this conversation would end their fight. No, he supposed he hadn’t thought that. But he liked talking military strategy with Laurent, even if it concerned their hypothetical deaths. Figuring out a way to maneuver out of a Veretian murder plot was the most exciting thing he had done all day.

“Ah, but I would be dead by your hand,” Damen corrected. “I would not be captured. You’re too smart to leave me alive.”

He smiled slightly, looking Laurent over with a grin. “And Nikandros would not allow me to be alone in your company for any length of time without drafting a plan as Kyros of Ios. He /would/ be in charge, as the kyroi have agreed. They would unite to avenge me, and Vere would not have the numbers to stop them, not without Kempt.”

And even then, he hardly saw Kemptian “warriors” being much of an issue for his men.

“We would certainly be at a disadvantage if you were anywhere close to Ios, but you would never make it there. Just as your men know my home, we know yours. Arles would fall in…four days. If Nikandros could not figure out a way to breech the walls, then perhaps a month or more while they waited for you to starve. I imagine the inner turmoil here would bring things to fruition faster than that, but I am being generous.”

Laurent was a wonderful king—the best king Damen had ever seen for Vere—but he didn’t have the support to remain well under siege. Even with Fynn.

“And yes,” Damen said, thinking aloud. “Kempt would probably return at that time with an Army. But without any trade to Vere under siege, Patras and Vask would be trading with Akielos, not Vere, and would likely offer soldiers at a price. We could split our army to take out the Kemptians and if Arles launched a counterattack with starving soldiers, I imagine that would not be too difficult to engage.”

He shrugged, leaning back on his hands.

“After the battle, yes, Akielos may well fall apart, but we would be dead, so I suppose it would not matter much."

* * *

“You do forget that it is winter,” Laurent added to his argument, and for once, it seemed that he might not have interest in ripping Damen’s head off in this fight. “And the slow spread of news across the land. My men are the ones warm in their beds, rested and supplied as they would need be. Your plan rests on the idea that war could not break out this very night.”

Laurent had told Damen over and over that he needed to think /faster/ when it came to Veretians.

“And perhaps my own plan would not be to fall Ios, but to take it. My uncle nearly did it in a few months, and I have always been wiser and smarter than he. You’ve given many of your people reason to trust me. You do not think I could use that to my benefit?”

It would not be easy, but Laurent /could/. To be absolutely fair, before Damen, the destruction of Akielos had been one of Laurent’s primary focuses.

He would never be able to follow through with it now.

“And it would matter.”

Earlier in this fight, Damen had accused Laurent of not maturing, of still being a princeling - and a terrible one at that - but Laurent /had/ grown. He had changed in more ways than anyone would ever give him credit for.

“Akielos would be under the waiting reign of Kastor’s child while your Kyroi fell. The agreement has been made for now, but do you truly believe Makedon would listen to Nik? He barely listened to you. And Vere would be—“ Laurent had to think about it, truly and honestly. “Vere would be under the control of my council until...until they /named/ someone king. Or lived under a regent.”

It went so well for them last time.

“And then what would this all be for?”

* * *

“If war did break out tonight, it would be weeks before news reached Ios, then Nikandros would have to gather the troops and come to Arles. By the time that happened, it would be spring. Cold here, perhaps, but nothing my men could not handle,” Damen replied, putting his hand back on Laurent’s chest again. He stroked his finger along the line of Laurent’s sternum.

“If I died in Arles, there is nothing you could say to convince my men I was not killed by you,” Damen hummed. “They may be loyal to me as a king, but they also know I am weak to fair skin and golden hair. They simply don’t say it to my face.”

Damen rested his head on his pillow, closing his eyes. It was not hard to imagine Ios claimed by Veretians, Arles in flames. Both kingdoms would fall to ruin no matter the victor.

“I would ask you the same question concerning our heir,” Damen murmured. “If we grow old with no children, then Cosmas will rule the kingdom when we die."

* * *

Damen /really/ wanted to fight.

“Honestly, Damen,” Laurent groaned, finally losing the hard edge to his voice and falling into something that on anyone else would have sounded like surrender. On Laurent, it somehow still sounded like a threat.

“Is it not enough to have my love doubted, my body overpowered, to be accused of betrayal, and now you want to talk about /this/?”

Surprisingly, Laurent flopped back onto the bed, and this time, he did not bat Damen’s hand away.

“Are you waiting for me to demand you return to Ios? Is that what you want?”

Surely this could all be described as an onslaught.

Laurent almost wished he had been so ill as Paschal expected of him, if only to have not experienced /this/ entire meeting with Damen. He should have just gone to his own bed after Damen lied to him about his aching head.

* * *

Damen sighed. “I’ve told you already it is not doubt,” he said softly. “It’s closer to doom, if anything. I know you love me, but what if you come to love him too? Perhaps not in the same way, but enough?” Friends did not kiss in darkness during snowstorms. Damen had never kissed Nikandros and they had been in far more dire situations together.

He didn’t want to fight any longer. Maybe going back home would do them both good.

“I suppose I am, yes,” Damen said. “To ask me to go, no to demand, but yes.”

He rolled onto his back, putting his hand behind his head on the mattress.

“I was useless before,” he murmured. “But now with Fynn here and the kingdom interested in Kempt far more than Akielos, I don’t see why I should stay when I can’t even sleep in your bedchamber. Not to mention our plans for continuing our relationship in secret have failed miserably and we fight far more than we speak fondly to one another."

* * *

Laurent audibly sighed, rolling his head to the side so he could look over to Damen.

“The kingdom is interested in the scandal,” Laurent informed Damen, as he had so greatly misjudged Arles - more so than even Laurent had anticipated. “The kingdom knows Fynn, but they also know my love for you. They are just interested in what might happen between now and the decision.”

Like their king leaving the Akielon king and nearly dying in a snowstorm with a Kemptian Duke. Like the king disappearing for hours, days, with the uncertainty of the outcome of all of this. Vere siphoned it’s very energy from such intrigue.

“You do not allow yourself to stay in my chambers. And you are the one consistently striking the flint that keeps his argument kindled.” Laurent would not let up in Damen so easily, his pride be damned.

“You are driving me away, Damianos. You say it is not doubt, but your dread is one in the same. You are taking this - and me - for granted.”

And Laurent could not show much that hurt him as well.

* * *

Damen snorted. “/I/ strike the flint? /I/ take /you/ for granted?” He sat up in his elbow again, annoyed. “I am following the rules, Laurent. It isn’t my fault you didn’t know them before you agreed to this. I have been /trying/ to cooperate with this plan, only to have you leave me at a party we attended together. Even if you had made it home safe that night, I would have been very hurt. I ask you again to imagine what you would have done if I had been the on leaving you.”

Could Laurent truly be so blind to his own hypocrisy? He suddenly felt ill, because perhaps Laurent didn’t understand him at all. Damen had pulled out every stop to ensure that no one had found out that Laurent had been missing, that he had been ill, that Vere had nearly lost its king.

“I /miss/ you,” Damen said, his voice equal parts soft and desperate. “I want to sleep in bed with you, I want to wake up with you in my arms, but that would mean that you would have to allow such a thing with Fynn, and I can’t bear to think of it. So I follow the rules. I—“

He sat up, putting his face in his hands. A headache was actually beginning to form behind his eyes.

“You should go,” he said. “I can’t fight any longer."

* * *

“If you thought it would be for the improvement of your country, I would support anything you had to do,” Laurent told Damen as he did just as offered. He climbed out of the bed and went for his clothes. “Because I /trust/ you.” And Laurent had shown that by allowing himself to be handled in the shameful way Damen had.

Of course, Laurent had given Damen many reasons not to trust him in the past, but he thought they were past that, thought that was not an issue they would have any longer.

Damen could say he it was merely dread, but Laurent knew what it actually was.

“And Damen,” Laurent started up again once he had his leisure shirt thrown over his head. “Fynn is in no place to share a bed with me right now. He may not be before he has to return to Kempt. You are sacrificing quite a lot on the assumption I would invite Fynn into my bed based on principle alone.”

Laurent picked up his boots, padding to the doorway of the guest chambers.

“Oh—“ Laurent started just before taking hold of the ornate door handle. “And just as a question, what is it you think I would /do/ with Fynn in my bed, hmm?”

* * *

Damen loathed that Laurent was right. He probably /would/ allow Damen to do pretty much anything to secure their kingdoms, but Damen would never entertain /this/ no matter how much good it might do. He would not allow himself to be seen as torn, even in principle, from Laurent.

Currently, he had no desire to share a bed with Laurent. The thought of this argument dragging out over the full course of an evening sounded horrible. And Laurent /would/ continue it until one of them left or their relationship just…ended.

The thought made Damen feel even more sick.

“Him sleeping beside you is enough,” Damen said miserably. He could feel his skin going green. The last thing he wanted to think about was Fynn slipping under the covers with Laurent, making him laugh, showering him with kisses until both of them were unclothed, flirting and charming and—

“Goodbye, Laurent,” Damen muttered. “Rest."

* * *

“I am so very glad we are doing this,” Laurent murmured in farewell, the sarcasm laid on as thick as thick as honey, before Laurent turned and walked out. He would not stay around for this, to have his love and fidelity doubted all because of one kiss which he felt he had explained as well Ah he could.

Laurent did not understand why logic was so easily dismissed over feelings, but then, he supposed he had always known that to be the case with Damen. It would be his downfall, not only in life, but perhaps even in this.../relationship/ of theirs.

Why could things just not be /easy/?

“Your M—“ Pallas started as Laurent padded past him, still barefoot for the walk back to his chambers, but Laurent was /quick/ to cut him off.

“Should you so much as say a word to me, I’ll have Lazar remove your tongue,” Laurent hissed. Pallas has just so happened to be the unfortunate one on the /other/ side of Damen’s door, and therefore, someone Damen could not stop Laurent from taking apart with the anger still coursing through him.

Lazar, who was at the end of the hallway and could see where Pallas stood guard if he craned his neck just so, might have heard his name, but his expression when he opened the door for his king supplied he probably had not.

Lazar opened the door for Laurent, and the moment it was closed, Laurent found his way to his fire and just...went to the floor, his face still stoic, his eyes on the flames, but he was in the most subtle way, holding himself.

* * *

Things improved little over the next week. Fynn had several horrible nights in a row, and Damen kept himself away from Fynn and Laurent as much as possible to avoid hearing about how the Kemptian duke was worsening or recovering with the King of Vere at his side.

Vere was /ecstatic/ over the competition. Crowds filled every hall in Arles trying to glimpse a peek at Laurent’s current interest, and people flocked to the gates with banners in support of Akielos of Kempt to show their affection for each man. Supposedly nobility from Patras had sent messengers to relay information to the people there to see what might come of it all (though Damen suspected Torvald still had a vested interest even with his beloved pet).

Damen did spend time with Laurent. They discussed thinks in Akielos as more messages were brought in, and wedding plans were quietly continued. They still shared kisses in greeting and before they parted ways, but Damen remained steadfast in staying in his guest chambers.

He was finally starting to feel like things were improving, though. He had his thigh pressed to Laurent’s under the table at dinner that evening and they shared a few quick kisses amongst the sweetmeats and salted pork.

So of course Fynn had to ruin it.

He appeared in the hall toward the end of dinner, dressed in a glorious display of black and gold, velvet and goldspun thread. And a stupid gold and black speckled pheasant feather tucked in his stupid hat.

There was also no seat for him, and Damen had to stop the deterioration of his engagement.

So he stood, smiled, and offered his own seat, which was that of the honored guest and not one for a king, as this was just a normal dinner.

“Fynn,” Damen greeted, moving behind Laurent to place a hand on his shoulder. “It is good to see you well. Come and sit, there is plenty of soup to eat.”

Fynn looked puzzled, his grand entrance clearly not planned with Damen in mind. But he recovered quickly and dipped his head respectfully.

“You are too kind,” he said in Akielon. “Thank you, Exalted. I am feeling much better.”

He took his seat by Laurent and servants fell over themselves to fetch him a bowl of soup.

“You have perfect timing,” Damen said as more servants scrambled to find him a suitable chair. “Dessert has just been served.”

Fynn smiled, but his eyes held panic. “Thank you,” he said in Akielon, then he looked to Laurent, still grinning, and switched to his dialect of Veretian. “Tell me he will not bring me poisoned soup? I am not /that/ well yet."

* * *

Even in Fynn’a absence, Damen did not take advantage of visiting Laurent. Not once did he sneak into Laurent’s chambers, nor did he join him in the baths. He did not come to Laurent’s check ups with Paschal, did not ever come with him in the training field.

Over dinner, they would discuss matters in Akielos, and once, after a visit to Fynn, Laurent had moved into Damen’s room for a few hours to discuss the matters of their union. They had done so well in tearing each other apart with murder plots, that Laurent believed them able to do something constructive with their time when it came to plotting their future.

They half-heartedly planned they renovation of Marlas, spoke of where the wedding might be, spoke of trade along the shore, but everything felt utilitarian. Laurent could feel Damen draining him, and Laurent was too tired to fight it.

He barely slept. Alone and cold and worried and angry, his night mostly consisted of work, of checking on Fynn, of seeing Paschal to monitor his own health. Where his bruises had begun to fade, his mind seemed cleared of damage, and his breathing no longer sounded so wet, Laurent showed no signs of an actual /improvement/. At least not to those who had the displeasure of running into him during the day.

The word ‘tyrant’ was thrown around frequently, and the rumours of his /not/ being bedded spread across the palace like a plague. Laurent had almost been tolerable since his return from Akielos, but very suddenly, he’d begun to once more weaponise his words, his moods.

Many were under their breath volunteering to be the one to fuck the kindness back into him.

Kisses With Damen were shared, and when spotted, they were heralded about, but they were, all of them, too brief, and always left Laurent hanging in the midst between himself and Damen just a beat longer than his betrothed.

He’d hear no rumours about that yet.

It wasn’t until the news of Fynn’s slow but certain recovery that Laurent finally took a breath. Things had not been looking well for many days, and Laurent had worried himself into an absolute fit, which only worsened his mood. But with Fynn’s health taking a turn for the better, Laurent felt the weight of that /guilt/ lift off of him, felt it replaced with another guilt.

He did not need to balance worrying about two men now. He was finally free to.../try/ to focus on Damen.

Laurent met Damen outside of his room when dinner was announced, and where he usually had that same infuriatingly stoic expression on his face, Laurent had managed a smile for the first time in days. Even small, he could feel it had some effect on Damen.

But perhaps, as Laurent feared and had feared for some time, it was too little too late.

Torn between dread and relief, Laurent greeted Fynn as happily as he could. The last time he had seen him had been the evening before, when Laurent had nearly been shooed out of the room. Fynn had been in an undisturbed, deep sleep, and Leopold has determined he was finally on the rise.

Laurent had not expected it so soon.

“Has Paschal allowed this?” Laurent asked, and he was very serious in what he said, as if he would send Fynn back immediately to his bed.

He almost wished he could.

Just as he wished Damen would stop being so /chivalrous/ to the competition when he could barely be cooperative with Laurent.

* * *

Fynn smiled, taking the time to look over Laurent’s face now that he could see it in proper lighting. He looked exhausted, with the same dark rings around his eyes that Auguste used to get when he was stressed. Fynn had hardly been conscious for most of Laurent’s visits, but he knew the Veretian king had been with him often.

He couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss. It was childish, but Fynn hadn’t shared such an intimate moment with someone he cared about for a very long time. He could still taste Laurent’s mouth, the heat building between them in the darkness.

“You think I would be able to leave the room without his approval? I am told you threatened them with death,” Fynn replied in Akielon. He doubted Laurent’s court knew of such an order. “I am allowed to eat soup and bread, and must return to bed once dinner is over. But I am feeling much better.”

Damen watched the exchange with growing hurt. It wasn’t fair to Laurent and he knew it—Laurent hadn’t decided Fynn should join them for dinner—but just being around Fynn made Damen feel lesser. A lack of confidence was not something he was used to, but for some reason the Kemptian duke made him feel wholly in adequate as a lover, especially with how things had been going.

Servants finally arrived with Fynn’s bowl of soup, and he started to spoon up the broth, a smile coming to his lips once more.

Everything in Damen’s mind told him to leave before he witnessed something to fuel his nightmares. Instead, a seat was quickly brought over for him and Jeurre forced the rest of the table to make room so that Damen could sit.

“I’ve thought of you often,” Fynn said quietly, and Damen noticeably flinched. “Are you well? You look as if you haven’t slept. Surely I was not in such dire straits to warrant you staying up all night.”

“You don’t need to speak in Akielon,” Damen muttered. “I speak Veretian as fluently as any man here.”

Fynn’s eyes flashed. “I do not do it for your benefit—“

“Detriment,” Damen interrupted.

Fynn rolled his eyes and switched back to his Veretian dialect. “Is this better, beast? Animal? Princekiller?”

Damen glared, but try as he might, the words sounded nothing like any Veretian he knew, nor any Kempt.

“No wonder you are tired,” Fynn said through his smile.

* * *

Laurent had hoped his little threat might have not left that room, but he supposed if it worked, he could not be /too/ upset by it. It was not the most shocking order or threat he had given in the past week. He’d lashed out at Jord but three days into all of this and he had separated Pallas and Lazar on threat of flogging.

He knew they were risking it, knew they had seen each other, but Laurent let them believe they were being surreptitious. He was in no such mood to act on his threat now, especially when he was down one of his larger problems.

Now he just had his usual problem of Fynn and Damen together.

Laurent might have blushed when Fynn mentioned his frequent thoughts of him, but the candlelight did not give him away. His eyes flicked to Damen, and he saw the hurt there.

And then heard it.

And then Fynn was so boldly insulting Damen in a tongue Laurent could barely understand, but it was rooted in his own language, so he caught on.

“Stop that,” he ordered of Fynn in Akielon so everyone could understand, pointing a fine boned finger at his bowl of soup. The bruises had mostly healed on Laurent with just some yellowing on the parts of his body that took most of the impact. His hands were no lingers mottled in blues and greens, his palms no longer scraped and gashed.  
“Eat. You are too bold.”

He put his eyes back on Damen, both hoping he could see what Laurent had just done for him, while also silently threatening him not to say another word. Laurent would not have it. Not so soon after Fynn’s return.

* * *

Fynn grinned devilishly, but returned to his soup. “You Majesty, I am only bold for my kingdom and yours,” he murmured in Akielon, and Daman had to fight from reaching over Laurent to throttle him. He still didn’t know what Fynn had said before, but now he suspected it was much more insulting than Laurent was letting on.

Eyebrows certainly lifted at the table, and Lady Vannes looked all too pleased. She had seemed to take particular enjoyment in watching Jeurre’s play at the competition put the whole kingdom at risk while she toted her pets.

“What is so amusing?” Damen snapped at her.

“Too bold, indeed,” Lady Vannes replied quietly, lips curled in a smirk. “Imagine if anyone at this table would have said such a thing—their innards would be spread like dessert.”

Meanwhile, Fynn rested his knee against Laurent’s under the table as he dutifully spooned up more soup.

“You did not answer my question,” he said after a moment, watching as Damianos had turned to speak to Lady Vannes. “Something has changed between the both of you—“ _Thank god_ , he wanted to say, but didn’t. “—and I cannot imagine that has been easy to deal with.” Especially since the King of Akielos was so damned dramatic and bullish.

“Perhaps you could walk me back to my room and we can discuss it,” Fynn offered. “I have no desire to see you exhausted on my behalf.”

* * *

Laurent could not hear in full what Lady Vannes said, not over the sound of other conversations and the distance, but he heard part of it, and it lit something so strong inside of him that he nearly did spill someone’s innards.

And now Damen was /talking/ to her.

Laurent needed to get Fynn out of there.

So he stood right out of his chair and nodded towards the door. The guests would have a fit with it, watching their king leave with the duke, once more leaving Damen behind, but Laurent couldn’t. He wouldn’t do this. He was not even in the mood to put up with this.

“Come,” he said of Fynn, /leading/ him out of the room without a second thought.

This whispers did not even wait for him to leave to begin.

* * *

Fynn nearly spit out his soup. He’d been here for not longer than five minutes and Laurent already wanted to take him away. He finished swallowing and grabbed some bread on the way out, giving Damen a wink on the way out.

Damen could not have been more insulted. Just when he and Laurent were getting somewhere, /this/ was how he responded to Fynn showing up to dinner? He could read from Laurent’s face that he was doing this to escape and not because he was smitten, but that didn’t matter to the people sitting around them.

“I always wondered when he would tire of you,” Mathe chuckled.

“I have always wondered when you will stop falling for his ruses,” Damen shot back, but he was having a difficult time hiding his hurt. Even with the circumstances as favorable as possible, he couldn’t believe Laurent would give the people such a humiliating show.

“He is simply entertaining a duke,” he tacked on, feeling outnumbered by the amount of eyes on him. “Laurent loves me as I love him.”

“A little less each day,” Mathe mumbled none too quietly.

“Laurent, stop,” Fynn panted, grasping Laurent’s wrist for a moment to steady himself in the hall. He hunched forward, bracing a hand above his knee as he caught his breath. “I am not…quite healthy enough…to go running…around the palace.”

He kept his hold on Laurent though, and after a few more moments of labored breathing, he straightened and dropped his hold.

“May I take your hand?” he asked. “It might be of some comfort. You can…tell me what that was all about as we walk."

* * *

Had he the option, Laurent would not have stopped, but dragging Fynn was not an option, so he had to wait. He had to wait for Fynn to catch his breath, had to wait for Fynn to stand up straight—

But Laurent did not need to wait for Fynn to hold his hand.

“I have /asked/ of you to stop goading him,” Laurent told Fynn, his energy very similar to what he’d been giving Damen all week. There was care behind it all, somewhere, but at the forefront was Laurent’s exhaustion. With Damen, with his people, with the kingdom, with work, with /everything/. Laurent was exhausted, and he would allow it any longer.

He had been like this for /days/ with nothing like relief if any sort. Laurent had been so on edge, unable to relax, and the usual rumours were starting about him because of it.

“No matter the outcome of this competition, no matter who has the support of Auguste, I will not have war incited in my kingdom over /pride/.”

Laurent had never wanted to be like this in front of Fynn. He had never wanted to be this person, but he had to be. He /had/ to be.

“Time and time again, I have told you that Damianos is a good man. You need not believe me - you may even disagree with me in your privacy - but I will not have Auguste’s death brought up every time you wish to insult the king of Akielos.”

* * *

Things were worse than Fynn had anticipated. Laurent look haunted, his eyes were weary, his skin not as bright as he remembered. Laurent was still recovering from his own sickness. Fynn sighed, fighting back a cough that sparked from the exhale.

“Okay,” Fynn said. He assumed Damen’s chivalry earlier had been spurred from an identical conversation, and he wouldn’t be the one to ignore Laurent’s wishes, even if he felt he was more in the right than the Princekiller.

He didn’t take Laurent’s tone personally. It was the same tone Auguste used to use when King Aleron punished them for their antics. Auguste would take it out on him sometimes, so he learned to take it with a grain of salt.

“Unless he plans to kill me, I doubt Queen Greta would care if I declared war on Akielos. She might kill me herself if Damianos declared war on us, though,” he teased. He shifted his grip to take Laurent’s hand as they walked, and would hold it until he was told not to.

“Can I insult his appearance, then?” he joked. “Or about the way he seems not to care that his supposedly beloved Laurent is suffering so?”

He gave Laurent’s hand a squeeze as they entered his bedchamber, still warm but not as stifling as before.

“Come and rest,” Fynn murmured. “I have yet to show you the books I brought with me. I could read one to you, if you like. The translation might not be adequate, but you could learn some Kempt along the way."

* * *

Okay.

/Okay/.

It was all Laurent had wanted to hear for days now. He and Damen argued nonstop. There was never relenting or backing down, never an easy end to an argument, and Fynn had just...given him that. Fynn had just respected him and believed him enough to say...okay.

Laurent had thought this would go much longer. To say he was surprised would be an understatement.

“Okay,” he repeated, his shoulders visibly dropping with the realisation that they weren’t fighting, that Laurent would not need to defend himself, to justify what he had said any further. The last full thought Laurent truly had was that there was nothing of Damen’s appearance to insult.

His lack of care, however....

He mostly followed Fynn off because he’d not yet processed how simple that had been, and his body had begun to move on its own. Next thing he knew, they were in Fynn’s room.

It smelled heavily of Veretian perfume, most likely to cover the sick smell, and the window had been unshuttered just enough to let a small breeze in, effectively making it a much more bearable temperature in the room.

There would be no resting - not for Laurent. Where Fynn was improving, Laurent realised his every other issue now was outside of this room, and it seemed almost irresponsible to just sit and read... Surely Fynn would not take it too personally. Their relationship clearly had not suffered over this past week.

Laurent had some work to do.

“I—“ Laurent started, looking about the room, truly uncertain of where to go in that moment. “I would like that. Quite a lot,” and Laurent meant that. “But...it will need to be tomorrow. I have left the Akielon King quite rudely, and I do not know if your memory serves you, but most of my time has been spent with you this week.” He turned his tone to something a little lore jokey. “It is not my fault you did not make the most of it. Well...perhaps it is.”

* * *

Fynn figured he had gotten too lucky to hope that Laurent could spend the afternoon in bed with him, but the promise of tomorrow was exciting, and likely would be approved by Paschal and Leopold as an acceptable activity. His lungs were still weak, and he could fall over the edge of sickness at any time, but he felt he was recovered.

“Tomorrow then,” Fynn said, releasing Laurent’s hand but stepping closer. He wanted to see more of Laurent’s relaxation, and the thought of spending a day reading to each other sounded heavenly to him. “I wish I would have been conscious, but you will have to settle with recovered.”

He smiled, wishing he had the confidence to steal a kiss before Laurent had to leave him, but he didn’t want to cause any more strife.

“It was not your fault,” Fynn did assure him, rubbing Laurent’s arm. “We had a grand adventure, a story we will never forget. And thankfully I did not die from it, nor you. I suppose we can count that as a victory.”

He stepped back and gave a small bow. “Thank you for walking me back to my room.” He lifted his stolen bread. “I can’t wait to eat this before it goes stale."

* * *

/Tomorrow then/.

Another /easy/ agreement. Laurent still was not so sure how to react. Over the past week, he had been doing so much fighting, he’d been putting in so much effort to just stay afloat, and Fynn—

He was so grateful for Fynn right now. So much so that he felt guilty for wishing Fynn had never shown up to dinner in the first place.

“I will have more food sent to you,” Laurent assured him, “As that /was/ very much my fault.” He’d yanked Fynn right out of hall, pulled him away from his dinner.

Laurent reached out for Fynn’s hand and gave it a little squeeze, wishing he could properly thank him for making this easy without having to spread any negativity about Damen to the one man who wanted to hear it more than anything.

“I’m glad to see you are well,” Laurent said in parting, and he exited just after relieving Fynn of his grasp.

In something of better spirits for the first time in a week, Laurent made his way to Damen’s chambers. He was not sure if he had yet to leave the dining hall, but Laurent had no issues with waiting for him here if not.

“Pallas,” Laurent greeted dryly, motioning to the door with his head. “Has he returned?”

* * *

Warmth spread in Fynn’s chest as Laurent admitted to being happy he was well, and his hand tingled with the sensation of Laurent’s little squeeze. God, he was hopeless. He tried not to be, because some part of him knew Laurent would not part from Damianos, but it was getting more difficult now. So he decided to go to his books to find one that Laurent might want to listen to.

Down the hall, Pallas had to fight hard not to scowl. “No. He is still at dinner.” _Where you should be_ wasn’t said, but implied in his tone.

He did step aside though, in case Laurent wanted to enter. He doubted it, since apparently Laurent only wanted to argue with the man who had saved his sorry kingdom, when he was the one taking dukes to bed. He wondered how had gotten on his knees when the door was shut.

Damen was just finishing a truly embarrassing dinner, his cheeks hot and his shame complete. He stayed just long enough to be normal, then made a nondescript exit, enduring the not so quiet laughter of Veretians and the disappointed looks from his own men.

He didn’t know how he should handle this. He had no one he could ask, and if Nikandros somehow appeared he would go after Laurent without any further knowledge.

Surely that wasn’t the right thing to do?

Dejected, Damen first went to the baths. he cleaned himself without fanfare, much like Laurent did when there was a task at hand. He tried not to think of their last time in the baths together, and the smell of Veretian perfume made him think of how he adored to smell it on Laurent’s pale skin.

So he finished quickly and returned to his room in only a towel, silencing Pallas with a look before he entered.


	12. Part I: Waiting Game

Laurent did decide to wait for Damen in the guest chambers. Not only was he tired of his own chambers, but if he were here when Damen arrived, there would be no telling just how long he had been waiting without exclusively asking Pallas. If Damen wanted to believe Laurent had been there the whole time, he could. Laurent had doubts Damen ever would believe such a thing, but it was there should he so desire it.

Once inside, Laurent began to work at the laces of his clothing.

As terrible as he may have been about it the last time, this /was/ something he could offer Damen that only he could and would ever have. When this little game had begun, Laurent and Damen had plans to sneak around, to steal moments with each other, to have each other despite the rules of courtship and it had never happened.

Sex was important to Damen, something special between them, and maybe, if Laurent was not using it as a weapon and mode as something genuine, it would improve Damen’s mood...and perhaps even his own.

They had been apart for too long.

Once he was fully stripped and laid in Damen’s bed, still very much alone, Laurent let his mind wander to their stay at the inn, to Lamen and Soren, to how happy they had both been in those days. Laurent thought back to Marlas, to Sicyan, to the closeness and intimacy he and Damen had had...and had lost recently.

Laurent could get it back. He knew he could. He just had to be willing to do the work, to /show/ Damen he wanted him, as Damen had asked him to before all of this. Laurent needed to take the initiative.

And perhaps Laurent could do with feeling /wanted/ by the right man again.

So there he was, waiting for Damen when he /finally/ made it to his chambers, smelling of the baths and the perfumes that accompanied them.

Laurent could fix this.

He said nothing, just luxuriated a little more in Damen’s bed, his smile soft and somehow innocent despite his current indecency.

* * *

Damen did not expect someone to be waiting for him when he arrived in his chambers. Seeing Laurent lounging there naked was about the last thing that would have come to mind even with a warning. Yet there he was, laid in bed the way his slaves used to be back before he had ever known Laurent of Vere.

He had no idea how long Laurent had been waiting for him, but it had been long enough to remove his clothing and get quite comfortable in his bed. Damen swallowed hard.

 _Where is Fynn hiding?_ he thought to ask, because he was still so hurt.

But he said nothing and dropped his towel before crawling into bed. Damen pressed his nose to Laurent’s collarbone and inhaled deeply, his arms winding around his body, fingers pressing into his warm skin.

He didn’t speak. Speaking would only open up hurt and argument, and right now he just wanted this. Laurent naked and waiting, the rest of the palace moving off to their drinking and whoring, forgetting about two kings.

So he kissed Laurent’s neck, feathering his lips along the column of his throat, hands wandering the body he had been without. He wasted to time in pressing a palm to Laurent’s inner thigh, silently asking him to spread his legs, to give them what they both so desperately needed. No foreplay, no flirtatious quips. He wanted Laurent, and nothing more.

* * *

Laurent had honestly expected a fight. He’d hoped he wouldn’t get one, but he had been so prepared. A part of him thought Damen might make joke about his being there, or worse than that, ask him to leave. With how they had been since this game began, he thought /this/ wouldn’t be possible anymore.

But then Damen was in his arms, and Laurent welcomed him there, held him as Damen /kissed/ him with a passion and attention he’d not had for him since they’d last bathed together before the competition.

Laurent went pliant, willing, his fingers curling up into Damen’s hair as he felt him for the first time it what felt like forever. He was so warm, so solid, and Laurent felt a thousand strains leave his body as he felt himself welcomed to what he very well could call ‘home.’

He didn’t mind that they weren’t talking. That was something they could do after. Laurent always mentioned how base sex was, but right now, they needed something simple. With just this, the message was clear and could not be misinterpreted or miscommunicated. He wanted Damen and Damen wanted him. That was as good a place as any to rekindle their relationship.

Laurent opened his legs at the gentle prodding, lifted his hips to make things easier for the both of them. He wanted his message just as clearly given as Damen’s. He wanted him, he wanted /this/ to be okay again, and he would damn the competition to have it.

* * *

Damen took his time enjoying the taste of Laurent’s body, but not as much as he usually did. There was a lot less eye contact too, which was also what he needed. He wasted no time grabbing the oil from where it had sat unused at his bedside, slicking his hands with it before pushing two fingers into Laurent, gasping quietly at the sensation.

It wasn’t long before he was pushing inside, groaning softly—Laurent was impossibly tight around him, and Damen had to fight not to fuck him as he did at the inn. He’d been without sex for over a week, with Laurent right next to him but never this close.

He built tempo, a carnal kind that wasn’t reckless but wasn’t gentle, either. The bed frame creaked with each thrust, and Damen curled his fingers into the silk sheets as he rutted, open-mouthed against Laurent’s throat.

He didn’t last long. He was eager and hot, spilling within Laurent with a shuddering gasp, still rutting for the sensation of Laurent all around him, milking him to completion. It was as if he were an adolescent again, finding pleasure quickly but blissfully.

* * *

It was a quick crescendo into what they usually took their time working towards. They usually spoke to each other which, of course, took time, and then there was usually teasing and foreplay and everything else Damen did to make this not feel so...unadorned.

The pace was not their usual either. It was something they usually worked up to, something Damen made Laurent ask for before he ever agreed to go faster, but that was not the case this time. Damen was chasing something very specific, but Laurent took no offence to it. He knew Damen was searching for something he could and would only find in Laurent.

It wasn’t at all like their usual coupling, but Laurent supposed that was not a bad thing. He didn’t feel /used/ anyway. It felt like they were both very much working at something together, and yes, it felt more like a task than an act of love, but it was better than nothing.

Laurent did his best to stay quiet, but the bed frame was giving away their dirty secret more loudly than Laurent would have anyway. His brow creased, his mouth alternating between grit teeth and open gasps as he took and took and took—

And the Damen spilled inside of him.

It took Laurent by surprise. Usually, Damen moaned his name, gave him some sort of cue he was about to spill. Laurent had not even had time to touch himself to catch up, but being still so new to sex as he was, he did not last long once he started.

And oh, did he feel.../strange/ after.

* * *

It wasn’t the best time in bed Damen had ever had. It wasn’t fantastical or mind blowing. Laurent hadn’t finished before him, though Damen did his best to give stimulation as Laurent touched himself. He was a bit ashamed when he realized it, clearing his throat. It was suddenly too quiet, and Damen had no idea what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally. He swallowed hard, the pleasure of the moment gone and replaced with the fear he may have harmed Laurent, or not felt if he wanted to stop.

But in truth, he was sorry about many things that reached far beyond the bedchamber, beyond Arles.

He sat up, his hair still damp from the baths, his heart beating madly in his chest. He knew he should be cleaning Laurent of his release, but he was pinned in place.

“I haven’t lost you, have I?” he asked quietly. “I haven’t driven you away?"

* * *

Laurent wouldn’t let Damen /apologise/. He, himself, had initiated this, had wanted this, and any other lover would have been completely satisfied with this, Laurent was sure. It was merely different from what Laurent knew of Damen.

So he kissed Damen softly to silence him on that at the very least.

“Despite your attempts, you have not,” Laurent assured Damen, and though he did not sound his usual sated self, he did not sound cold. He shifted in Damen’s arms and ultimately pushed up and out of the bed. He fetched a towel and dipped it in the water basin, returning to the bed a moment later to clean the both of them up.

He’d not done that in a while.

He wiped over Damen’s chest and stomach in silence for a moment, going over the same spot once or twice, almost as if he was just grateful to be able to touch Damen again...or as if he was holding onto something. Laurent usually worked efficiently, never had been one to dally, yet there he was.

Laurent, for once, did not know /what/ to say.

* * *

The kiss was unexpected, and Damen blinked stupidly when he received it. Tonight was turning out to be something very strange indeed. The sex already felt like it had just been a dream, and Laurent’s voice didn’t sound as it usually did after lovemaking. He wasn’t sure if he should mention it, or perhaps try again.

He looked away when Laurent left the bed, still unsure of himself. A part of him thought Laurent would leave, his duties done, his king satisfied and to be left alone.

So he was grateful when Laurent returned to bed with a towel to clean up, though it felt odd to be cleaned by someone who had barely looked at him at dinner hours prior. And Damen noticed that Laurent was taking his time. Silence made space between them, and Damen wasn’t sure what to do either.

“Stay tonight,” Damen urged, stilling Laurent’s hand with his own. “Or I can come to our bed.”

Their bed.

He sat up, pressing a soft kiss to Laurent’s lips. He lingered there, tugging the towel from Laurent’s grip and tossing it from the bed. He kissed him again, this time pulling Laurent down on top of him.

“You waited for me…why?"

* * *

Why had Laurent waited? Surely Damen knew better than to ask such a thing.

“You know why I waited,” Laurent murmured, looking down at Damen from where he was not postured above him. “Why would I do anything but? It is what lovers do.” What Laurent /had/ been doing for a /week/! Waiting, waiting, /waiting/. Waiting for Damen to come back to him, waiting for Damen to sneak in as they had planned, waiting for Damen to come back to /him/.

“Let us go back to /our/ room,” Laurent agreed a moment later, having every desire to stay with Damen, but not a single desire to stay in this bed. “Perhaps what I lack can be fulfilled with a more comfortable bed.”

He’d not meant it to sound as anything more than a joke.

* * *

It is what lovers do.

Damen warmed at the words, but still kept his heart guarded. If Fynn appeared at the door, he feared Laurent would fetch his clothes and run off with him as he had done at dinner. The hurt was still there within him, but easier to bear now that they had been intimate with each other.

Even so, the joke made him uncomfortable. Damen smiled weakly, but some color left his face as he slid from bed and found a sleeping skirt to cover himself. He knew Laurent hadn’t meant it to be an insult, but he suddenly felt disgusting, like he had used Laurent like a pet.

“You could wear one of my chitons,” Damen offered, gesturing toward his clothing trunk. “Or a blanket?”

They really needed to install a private passage. At least from the baths.

“I will enjoy sleeping on that mattress again, if only for one night.”

There as a knock at the door. Damen quickly pulled the sheet from the bed, pulling it around Laurent’s shoulders for decency before he could protest.

Pallas entered, his eyes flickering with something Damen couldn’t read when he caught sight of two mostly-naked kings. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, nodding to Laurent. “Your physician has given word that your plans with the Herzog of Kempt are to be postponed two days. His condition has worsened from his exertion today, and he will need to remain in bed.”

Damen stepped away from Laurent and began gathering up his clothes, defeated. Once he had all of the clothing in his arms, he began to lay it out on the bed to see how wrinkled it may have gotten. He fetched Laurent’s pants first, and held them out to him.

“You can go to him. We can finish this later."

* * *

A blanket would have been fine. It was not as if Laurent had any interest of hiding what they’d done from Pallas, from Jord, sitting watching by his own room. It would have been a quick move had they’d just /gone/.

But then Pallas was there, and Laurent held the sheet that had been offered about himself as he was once mode pummelled with /more/ bad news, once more burdened with a decision.

Laurent looked back to Damen, silently pleading with him to /make this easy/, but he knew better than to expect that of him. Anything that had once been easy between them had since become a maze to navigate through all over again, but Laurent was driven by what was right - and maybe it wasn’t what was right by him, but right by what’s even endgame he was playing.

“Go to our room,” Laurent asked of Damen, “Wait for me as I did for you.”

He only needed to hear what was wrong, needed to hear if he was at fault for literally dragging a sick man through the palace.

Laurent knew Damen would hate it, and he knew it would hurt him, but it was manageable. Laurent could still manage all of this if he was just /given the chance/. And this was the chance for two days of just /them/, of Laurent fixing this, if Damen would just /allow/ it.

“Fuck—“ Laurent cursed quietly, looking around for what of his clothes he could put on quickly. He was in a very limited window of time, and he knew it. The blanket would not be at all decent, especially if Fynn were still awake.

He looked up and saw Damen holding out his pants and Laurent thanked him as he pulled them on. He did not bother with the laces, only used the blanket to cover himself now that he could at least prove he had pants on underneath.

“Wait for me,” he asked of Damen again before he was out the door and headed down the hall.

* * *

Damen didn’t even have a chance to kiss Laurent before he was gone. The whole evening was precarious to begin with, and Damen wasn’t sure if it could be salvaged. Laurent had left him in the middle of dinner, publicly humiliating him in front of Vere. Then Damen had just…fucked him with no foreplay or sweet words, leaving them both feeling odd and out of place. And now Laurent was gone again. 

It did hurt. Damen felt like the spare man, his dignity barely intact as he avoided Pallas’s gaze and left the bedchamber in nothing but his bedskirt. He slipped into their bedroom and unfastened the skirt before climbing into bed. But unlike Laurent, he burrowed under the covers and turned away from the door. 

Fynn was in a fit of coughing when Paschal showed Laurent inside. He lifted a hand in greeting, his other pressed in a fist against his lips, trying to stop the spasms. 

“Evidently I only need to—“ He had to stop speaking to cough, and Paschal approached offering tea. Fynn nodded as he took it, sipping a few times to soothe his throat. 

“Evidently I only need to start coughing to summon you,” he teased, offering a small smile. His eyes were glassy with fever, his skin flushed. 

Paschal frowned. “I fear I made the wrong decision in allowing him to attend dinner.” He crossed his arms. “He is past a point of true concern, but I think a few more days of rest are what he requires.”

“Is he telling you I am to die?” Fynn joked, leaning his head back against the headboard. “I might as well, as our plans have been cancelled. I had already picked out the books to read."

* * *

The moment Laurent saw Fynn upright, still conscious and willing and able to make jokes, his look went from worried for disappointed. It was playful of course, exaggerated for effect, but it was hiding something awful behind it.

“I am telling him to let you die,” Laurent responded easily, leaning his weight against the doorframe, not getting /too/ close because he was quite vulnerable to any illness in that moment. “You only need cough and then I have to /worry/ about you.”

He did not smile, as it would have been forced, but there was lightness in his tone.

Paschal seemed relieved by it. Having to admit he’d made a mistake was clearly a danger for him, but Laurent was in...slightly more of a better mood right now. Paschal was safe.

“Stories last forever,” Laurent murmured. “The books will be here in two days’ time, should you not use all of your energy to try and incite war in my country.” Another light-hearted warning. The servants and Paschal alike were physically decompressing with Laurent using this tone. No one dared an odd look.

* * *

“There’s your Veretian cruelty,” Fynn returned around another swallow of tea. There was far too much honey in it. He wished Laurent would come closer—he did look awfully debauched with a blanket around his shoulders and his pants undone. It was quite the sight, especially with his blond hair tousled from sleep.

The source of his disheveled look became quite clear a moment later.

“Ah,” Fynn said with a knowing nod. “You’ve left your laurel king to come and see me.”

He wondered how fast Laurent had run from bed. He certainly didn’t look like he’d been particularly enjoying whatever had been happening to him. Some lover.

Fynn cocked his head, smiling appraisingly at Laurent. “What a vision you are, I should hope he appreciates it accordingly.” And Damianos didn’t, that much was clear. Fynn sipped more tea, wishing like hell he was healthy enough to see Laurent tomorrow, to dote on him properly, not manhandle him like a stag in the rut.

“I will try not to cough, then. I would so hate to interrupt whatever you were up to."

* * *

“I was in the baths,” Laurent lied - and sloppily at that. The moment he’d said it, he realised how foolish it was. It was very clear what he’d been doing...and he wasn’t sure why he felt so /guilty/ about it. He sold it however, stood by it, and did not take the time to further explain.

“Should you not be saving the breaths you have left?” Laurent asked, casually and confidently, as if he had not just told so poor a lie a moment ago. “Instead of using them in an attempt to flatter me?”

Laurent noticed the servants eyes on him as he spoke, when they thought him too caught up in Fynn. Many had seen him in a chiton by now, but this was something a little less /planned/. He certainly was some sort of sight to them.

He adjust the blanket a little more around him.

“Will you allow yourself to recover so that we might have these conversations without an audience from here on out?” Laurent asked then, his eyes flicking back to Fynn then.

* * *

Fynn cocked a brow, seeing right through that lie. Laurent’s hair was not wet and his skin was not flushed. Fynn had bashed with him and Auguste many times in his youth, and both princes turned pink the second they stepped into a warm bathing room. Interesting. 

“I would not be courting you properly if I did not expel my last breaths in praise of you, Your Majesty,” Fynn said with a grin. “And I would wager my attempts succeed—at least some of the time.” Enough to pull Laurent from bed with an Akielon king, enough to kiss him in the light of a warm fire, enough to be walked back to his bedchamber after mere minutes at dinner. 

But he nodded. “I will keep recovering,” he promised. “To see you as planned. Come prepared for many stories.”

He hoped they could make a day of it, or at least an evening. He also hoped Damianos could get his fill of Laurent and not find a way to bother them during. 

“Maybe I can even convince you to drink some wine with me—a dying man’s last wish.”

He smiled, then se his tea aside and nestled back into the pillows. A servant placed a damp cloth on his forehead and Fynn visibly relaxed. 

* * *

“I did not develop Auguste’s taste for wine,” Laurent informed Fynn, for even for him, Laurent would not suffer through the drink. The very thought made his stomach turn a little as he thought back to the griva he had consumed to make the Akielon troops happy. The headache afterwards had been unbearable.

He did remember the many evenings Fynn and Auguste had drank together, remembered sitting with them as they tipped back bottle after bottle.

Laurent distinctly remembered the time Fynn had gotten quite sick from it, and Auguste had covered for him with some tale of a poorly made meal. Auguste had, of course, named none of the servants, but Laurent could wager it was the young woman his brother slept with later that night that would have been the one to get in trouble should it have come to it.

He had so wanted to join them in drinking back then...

“Rest, Fynn,” Laurent murmured, dismissing his attempts at this flirtation for the time being. “I will check in tomorrow and Paschal and I will discuss how we might put you out of your misery.”

And Laurent excused himself, made his way back down the hall, back to his room.

Jord was standing at the door when Laurent arrived, and he greeted his king with the information that King Damianos was inside, without so much as a glance at his appearance or any open judgement of it. Laurent thanked him and stepped inside, finding Damen in the bed, but he felt no relief when he saw how Damen had postured himself.

“I let you find me in a much more inviting display,” Laurent said to Damen in an attempt at a dry joke as he began to remove his pants once more.

* * *

Damen had started to doze in the short time Laurent was away, the release of tension within him finally catching up to him. Perhaps he’d needed sex more than he’d realized. That, and Laurent’s bed—/their/ bed—was very comfortable. Much more so than the one he had been sleeping on for almost two weeks now.

When he heard Laurent arrive, he rolled back over with a sleepy smile on his face. “Your pillows had already invited me,” he rasped, voice thick with sleep. He opened his arms for Laurent to join him in bed, and for a moment it felt like normal. Like there was no Fynn, like Laurent hadn’t just gone down the hall to see him.

“Is he dead? Damen asked, but it was light. He knew Laurent wouldn’t have returned if he had.

He opened up the sheets to reveal that he had not crawled into bed clothed, and he hoped that was enough.

“I wasn’t sure how long you would be. I couldn’t stand the thought of getting cold."

* * *

Laurent was pleasantly surprised by Damen’s mood when he turned to him. There was not the hurt he had seen when he’d left him in the guest chambers, there was not the disappointment and /doubt/.

And when Damen pulled away the covers to reveal himself, Laurent thought that, perhaps, he had figured this all out, that he would not have to see Damen as he had been again, but like /this/, like they used to be.

And wasn’t /that/ what Laurent liked to see.

Laurent did himself of the blanket and crawled into the bed in matching nudity, moving right into Damen’s arms as Damen had done with him.

“He is not dead,” Laurent joked, feeling like this closeness allowed such a joke. “But it seems I may have almost killed him /again/ today.”

Laurent pressed a soft kiss to Damen’s lips, brought his fingers up to brush a dark curl back behind Damen’s ear.

* * *

Damen readily took Laurent into his arms, the awkwardness of their sex no longer stuck in the air between them. He nuzzled against him, smiling into the kiss. It didn’t fade when it was done, when he had the chance to look into the depths of Laurent’s eyes, the rawness there. 

“His stupidity is not your fault,” Damen returned, grazing his fingers back and forth over Laurent’s shoulders. “Though you could have let him slump over at the table instead of rushing him out.”

It was as close to accusing as he wanted to venture. He didn’t want to have another fight, not after they were finally repairing what had come undone. This close, he could see the exhaustion in Laurent’s face, the stretch of his skin over his lovely cheekbones. 

“You have not been resting,” he noted softly. “You cannot hold up a kingdom on so little sleep, my love."

* * *

“And that is /your/ fault,” Laurent told Damen outright when it came to his lack of sleeping. They were comfortable enough to take small jabs at each other it seemed, and he would not tiptoe if Damen didn’t feel the need to.

“I missed you terribly,” Laurent confessed boldly, his hand resting on Damen’s neck, thumbing softly. “Every second. I am still not used to how you affect me.”

It was the most honest Laurent had been in days.

More honest than he’d even been an hour ago with Damen.

* * *

Damen pulled back slightly, to look over Laurent’s face. He never made such intimate claims unless one of them was dying. Damen instinctively lifted a hand to rest his palm on Laurent’s forehead to make sure he wasn’t burning with fever. He felt warm, but not as he had when he was ill. 

“I thought you were avoiding me,” Damen said with a gentle kiss. He carded his fingers through Laurent’s hair, pressing kisses to his cheeks and jaw, suddenly overcome with the desire to protect him from something. 

“Tell me how I affect you,” he murmured against the warm skin of Laurent’s neck. His arms curled tighter around him, keeping him as close as possible. Laurent was everything to him, more than he could ever express through lovemaking, and especially not with words. 

“I have been aimless without you, hearing stories of your increasing anger. I feared you would finally say you wanted me out."

* * *

“I was /waiting/ for you,” Laurent nearly chuckled. It sounded so ridiculous - /him/, sentimental and awaiting Damen to return to him. Laurent had never been so passive. Though he supposed he was doing it quite aggressively...

“I don’t like the way I feel without you,” Laurent said next, for he was not sure how to exactly and easily describe how Damen affected him. “There is no one who can make me quite so angry as you. Admittedly, there is no one who can make me as happy.”

But he’d been saying that to Damen this whole competition, and Damen had just /refused to listen/.

“I asked you to stay with me,” Laurent murmured quietly a moment later. “I asked you to just hold on and to stay, and you did not do that. Say as you will, but you /doubted/ me, Damen. It hurt.”

He’d not meant to distribute this particular brand of honesty.

* * *

“Since when do you wait for anything?” Damen teased. “Yes, you were angry. That is about all I saw from you—you are quite intimidating, you know.” he appreciated Laurent’s skill in battle, but he truly feared his wrath when wronged emotionally. That tongue could make cuts far more lethal than any sword.

He wanted to argue once again that he hadn’t doubted, but a week of misery had helped him to understand that yes, he had.

“I did,” he admitted, though it hurt his heart to say it. “I…I never prepared for a reality where you kissed him, Laurent. You, willingly kissing him. I saw him doing as Torvald did, kissing you like the fool he is and thinking you enjoyed it.”

Even now, it was hard to talk about.

“I cannot explain what I felt that night when you didn’t come home. Then you were so ill, I thought I had brought you home just to lose you in my arms. To go from that to…hearing that you kissed him—how was I not to doubt? He is handsome and charming, and does not intend to be just a friend to you.”

He scratched gently at Laurent’s back, praying this didn’t end up in argument. He couldn’t handle that again.

* * *

Hearing Damen finally /admit/ that he had doubted Laurent was actually more calming than anything else. It was the lie that accompanied Damen’s denial about the doubt that was so grating today Laurent. Damen had so stubbornly been arguing a point that was so obvious, and to finally hear him admit it /helped/.

“I’ve no excuses,” Laurent murmured, lightly drawing his nails over Damen’s chest. “I’ve nothing to make it right. I acted immaturely, chasing desires I know I should not have.” He’d been thinking of the competition, of his childhood, of /Damen/, but that did not make it right.

“You’ve been hurt like this before,” Laurent continued evenly. “And I was awful to forget that.”  
Damen had been left for his brother by the love of his then life, and Laurent had not even thought of that when he’d been so candid with his infidelity.

“And I react...poorly...to being...left alone. Especially by someone I...love. So dearly.”

It took /a lot/ for Laurent to get that out. He couldn’t even look at Damen as he said it, and had downcast his eyes to Damen’s collarbone for the confession.

It was a shameful confession. Laurent was a full grown man and such a testimony was /pathetic/. He was a /king/! He was /Laurent of Vere/, and he should have no such time for such a small, inadequate and piteous scourge.

“I have not been liked - or loved - by many,” Laurent said in an attempt to change the subject. He even stifled out a little laugh, though it fell flat. “I am still learning how to...react.”

* * *

Well. It was nice to hear that Laurent finally recognized how foolish he had been in kissing another man, but Damen hadn’t realized he had thought about Jokaste until it was mentioned. Or maybe he had. He couldn’t remember any of their arguments despite how tedious and repetitive they had been. Hearing Laurent say it was like discovering the truth for the first time.

Jokaste had betrayed him in a way that Damen could never forgive, even though she claimed to have been trying to save his life. She may very well have, but that couldn’t erase the pure betrayal he felt whenever he thought of her.

And yes, he had thought himself to be embarking on a much more drawn out, painful version of the whole thing. He thought he would be watching Laurent slowly fall out of love with him and run to the arms of another man.

“You love me dearly?” he teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I do not react well to being left alone either, as you have seen.”

He pressed a kiss to Laurent’s jaw, hands wandering down his spine.

“I wish I could show you that power is not something that requires cruelty to keep,” Damen murmured. “You are a good man, Laurent. You are liked by many more than you think, but you do make it hard for them. Like keeping Lazar from Pallas—you and I both know they have been seeing each other anyway. You do not need to be so difficult."

* * *

Laurent was grateful for Damen’s matched levity in this.

“Cruelty is Veretian,” Laurent reminded Damen. “In Akielos, I will not be this way, but here, it is all they answer to.”

Damen had said it just days ago, that Laurent did not have the strength that Akielos had, that /Damen/ had. The point had been made time and time again to him. Even in physical fights, Laurent’s tactics revolved around exhausting his opponent. It was how he fought, and how he would continue to fight. In battles of wits, Laurent could not rely on wearing his opponent down and ending it with perfectly placed sharp steel, but what was death in a physical fight but the termination of deceitful thoughts in a battle of wits. And fear was just a quicker way to get there.

“There is a generation of Veretians that will never care for me,” Laurent went on evenly, “and I will not waste time in forcing them to do so. I‘ll act as I must for as long as I must.” And he would change when he could. He was sure he would.

“Pallas /did/ allow you commit an act of treason,” Laurent dismissed, and it seemed for the moment, he had relaxed. Something he had said in the last few moments had clearly been eating him alive for some time, and now freed of it, he looked like he could relax. “You could have killed me in that bed, and he let it happen. He should be punished.”

* * *

“Pinning you and covering your mouth would be considered foreplay in most countries,” Damen said with a roll of his eyes. “You were being childish, and I was not going to have you run out of the room to terrorize Pallas or anyone else in this palace.” He let out a short. “Do you remember when I punched you across the face?” Perhaps it wasn’t right, but they were men of war. Diplomacy only worked until it didn’t. 

“I suppose you are right, though. Had you had your hand over my mouth, he would not have left.” A smile came to Damen’s lips. “How daring that would be of you.”

He moved his hand down the length of Laurent’s thigh. 

“I…Earlier…” He cleared his throat, unsure how to continue. 

“Would you like me to…” He had seldom felt like such a lacking lover. “I did not mean to be cold. I was just so tired of fighting."

* * *

Laurent very much did remember when Damen punched him, sent him straight into a table. He also remembered Damen putting him on his back in the dirt during their last real physical fight. Laurent remembered all of his losses, but he did not hold them against Damen.

Right now.

“Let him have his small anxieties about visiting Lazar,” Laurent decided with a little grin. “It is the least he deserves.”

Just as Damen was beginning to deserve a hand over /his/ mouth. Had Laurent the energy, he would have gone for it then and there, but Damen seemed to have other plans if the hand on Laurent’s thigh said anything.

“How we fucked does not bother me,” Laurent assured Damen. It had felt...strange, but any oddity there had been outdone by their intimate conversation. Laurent enjoyed coupling with Damen, but a stimulating conversation could give many of the same effects.

That being said, Laurent /had/ slightly shifted his hips, opened his legs just a little further at the very offer.

“You were a little cold,” Laurent did agree however with a smile, his arms coming to loop around Damen’s neck and hold him close. “Perhaps I can try again to warm you up?”

* * *

Damen couldn’t help but let out a laugh at Laurent’s casual tone. “Veretian,” he chuckled, nosing at Laurent’s cheek. He felt the small movement of Laurent opening to him, the rush of heat that settled between his legs.

“It is you who needs warming,” Damen hummed. “Sleeping in this bed alone in the cold.” He met Laurent’s lips for a kiss, gentle and slow to build.

He moved to his back, pulling Laurent on top of him. Damen admired him for a long moment, caressing his face as he memorized every line, the fine curve of Laurent’s brow. Laurent simply glowed in low light—he could have toppled kingdoms if sex had ever truly interested him as recreation.

But Laurent seldom sought out sex, and Damen did not want him to be disappointed by anything else tonight.

“Did you notice?” he asked instead, taking Laurent’s hands and pressing it to his chest, against the piercings he had been given so kindly. “They’re healing nicely—but if you truly love me, you will not tug on them or I might die.”

He lifted his eyes. “But,” he whispered, “You may touch. And you may—gently—taste. If you wish."

* * *

Laurent had not thought once of those piercings in Damen’s absence, and seeing them now was like receiving a gift. Laurent’s hands went right to them, flicking over the little golden ends of the bars with a soft smile on his face.

“I would never tug,” he promised, shifting his hips to find a more comfortable position atop Damen. “I know these do go /through/ the flesh. I pierced them, after all.”

Laurent busied his mouth for a while with Damen’s neck, wanting to taste him well before he worried at all with his nipples any further. He had not been given the chance earlier to enjoy Damen, and since he had a few days with him back, he thought to take his time. 

He would have been just fine with this, Laurent thought. Just kissing and enjoying each other.

But there was only so long he could deny himself the benefits of his hard work. 

Laurent supposed he’d not expected the jewellery to taste like anything but metal, but he had to admit to enjoying the feel of them against his tongue. They were cold despite being pressed against Damen’s warm skin, and they were quite fun to wrap his tongue around.

It may have become something of a game while Laurent genuinely forgot it was Damen’s nipples he was worrying with his tongue.

He pulled back with a laugh after a moment, glancing up at Damen as an image of innocence.

“Do you still hate them?” Laurent asked cheekily. 

* * *

Laurent’s eagerness about Damen's body continued to shock him. He still wasn’t sure about the piercings—they still caused him quite a bit of pain when his chiton caught on them or they snagged in a towel, but seeing that look of fascination on Laurent’s face made it worth it. Well, almost.

“Do not flick them, either!” he hissed, though it hadn’t hurt. A few weeks ago that little action would have sent tears to his eyes involuntarily, and he would have likely doubled over in acute misery.

Surprisingly, Laurent used his mouth on his neck instead, allowing Damen to relax from his momentary panic. His hands wandered Laurent’s back, letting out soft exhales as he was explored. Laurent really did have a way with his mouth.

A fact made even more apparent when Laurent started tonguing his nipples. He’d suspected Laurent’s idea was to just give him ornamentation, something shining on his body that would be visible even when they weren’t clothed. Damen had never cared whether or not his nipples were involved in trysts, but /this/ was something else.

Not only did he get to watch Laurent’s mouth, he could feel the warm wetness of his tongue, the sensitivity of the still-healing skin, the absolutely wonderful stimulation of it all. Damen let out a few quiet moans, fighting every urge to nest his fingers in Laurent’s hair.

“They have not won me over yet,” Damen replied in a voice thick with desire. He wasn’t sure what he loved more: Laurent’s laughter or his devil tongue.

“Again,” he coaxed. “But I want to be inside you. Like we were when you pierced me.”

* * *

Laurent rolled his eyes in good humour before sitting back up, changing his position to something a little less relaxed.

“Are you sure you are not exhausted from earlier?” Laurent teased, stretching out to reach the little table by the bed. He strained until he could grab a hold of the oil, which he then spread over his fingers, watched it slide down onto his palm. He rubbed it around his hand with his fingers before reaching back behind him to slick Damen up. “You have been out of practice for a week.”

But it did so seem that Damen still wanted him.

Laurent smiled devilishly as he worked his hands around Damen.

“You told me once,” Laurent started as he worked, “that I fucked like a virgin. Have I since improved?”

* * *

Laurent rolled his eyes in good humour before sitting back up, changing his position to something a little less relaxed.

“Are you sure you are not exhausted from earlier?” Laurent teased, stretching out to reach the little table by the bed. He strained until he could grab a hold of the oil, which he then spread over his fingers, watched it slide down onto his palm. He rubbed it around his hand with his fingers before reaching back behind him to slick Damen up. “You have been out of practice for a week.”

But it did so seem that Damen still wanted him.

Laurent smiled devilishly as he worked his hands around Damen.

“You told me once,” Laurent started as he worked, “that I fucked like a virgin. Have I since improved?”

* * *

Damen definitely still wanted him. His hands wandered Laurent’s thighs and hips, wishing he was close enough to kiss. Even so, the view was nice enough, so he watched Laurent as he prepared the oil. His blood thickened with anticipation once Laurent reached behind him, and gasped quietly when his elegant fingers found his length.

“If you continue to ask me that question, I will assume you haven’t,” Damen forced out, eyes fluttering closed. He arched his back, rolling his hips as best he could into Laurent’s grip. He couldn’t think clearly enough to accurately tell Laurent that his virginal qualities were gone, because they weren’t, not entirely. He still took coaxing, and still did not submit fully to his pleasure unless Damen fucked away his inhibitions.

“Let’s find out,” he challenged, digging his fingers into Laurent’s thighs. “Show me how good you have become.” He gave Laurent a wry smile. “A week without fucking you properly and I seem to have forgotten."

* * *

“A reminder that that is /your/ fault,” Laurent smirked and, still stretched from earlier (he hoped), he aligned Damen with his entrance. “I was here, alone, waiting for you.”

They wouldn’t have fucked if Damen had come, and they both knew it. Or maybe they would have had their first angry fuck, but Laurent could not guarantee he would be interested in such a thing at all. Perhaps it was best they’d had this little bit of time apart.

It took a /little/ bit of coaxing, but soon enough, Laurent gave way to Damen and, eager to show he had improved, he went slow, completely in control, his thighs not even shaking in the slightest. He kept his eyes on Damen through, up through his lashes, as he took him in inch but inch all the way to the hilt, and then Laurent was smiling.

Which was a feat, as all he wanted to do was close his eyes, gasp through it and adjust, but he liked watching Damen’s face during this.

“You look gorgeous,” Laurent praised softly, his oiled hands sliding up the planes of Damen’s body, touching that which he had already begun to worship with his eyes.

* * *

Damen couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so full of lust. Laurent moved over him with confidence, and he could not help but imagine Laurent as his personal courtesan, though they were so much more than that. Laurent had said once that he spent quite a bit of time with women of the brothels, and Damen believed him now.

He had full view of Laurent coming down on his cock, and Damen could only let out a noise of pure arousal as he watched. Laurent’s thighs didn’t quiver, something Damen found obscenely attractive for some reason. How strong Laurent had become, confident and powerful in bed. Very different from their first time.

Damen pinned his bottom lip between his teeth, releasing it only to pant softly. He arched into Laurent’s touches, the way his hands explored so possessively—he wanted Laurent to own him completely. Such praise in bed was rare, and he worked his hips uselessly in search of more friction.

“I have half a mind to turn you over and finish,” he whined. “You are still tight."

* * *

“Rush it again, would you?” Laurent smirked, and his thighs, for only a moment, gave him away. They trembled ever so slightly, exposing the restraint he was truly exhibiting here. Damen just mentioned his tightness, and Laurent became all good aware of it.

He had to move.

“You wouldn’t risk the loss of having me like this.”

The strength in riding Damen smoothly and slowly was immense, and Laurent had to put all of his focus into the piercings to keep himself from chasing his own pleasure. That was not what this was about. This was about them rekindling what they had lost over the past few days - this was about reminding Damen what he gave up to be so prideful.

Damen looked breathtaking like this, and Laurent still stood by it. He was beautiful on his own, but the addition of those two little piercings have him this extra ornamentation - like he was a shiny gift for Laurent and only Laurent.

He folded himself over and laved his tongue back over his little decorations, rutting his hips to keep himself - and Damen - stimulated.

As he’d agreed.

* * *

Damen wouldn’t risk it. Laurent on top of him, full of him, speaking to with confidence that made him want to melt. Damen’s hands moved up his hips, thumbing there, trying to pull him down flush. He felt the quiver in Laurent’s thighs, but that was the only indication he was restraining himself. Surely Laurent was enjoying this, he had to be.

“Laurent,” he groaned, digging his fingers into pale skin as Laurent began to ride him. It was much too slow, almost languid. “Let me finish. Please.”

But Damen as not given the chance before Laurent’s mouth was at his nipples, driving Damen near mad with lust. He squirmed beneath him, and when Laurent began to move his hips Damen bucked up eagerly, chasing whatever he could get, but his blood was boiling with need. He had been without this too long. He needed /more./

His fingers gripped tight to Laurent’s hair, tugging it perhaps too forcefully so he could properly see that pink tongue moving across his skin, the wink of his piercing beneath it.

“I want to fuck you,” Damen growled. “I need to. You are torturing me."

* * *

“This is hardly torture,” Laurent dismissed with a fixed expression, as if he was much to busy with Damen’s nipples to even regard the man attached to them. He planted his hips a little more firmly and, as he had decided, stilled them entirely.

/Now/ he would torture Damen—

As well as himself, but he had a stronger resolve for this sort of thing.

It was not terribly comfortable, but Laurent spent most of his days laced into terribly tight clothing, even in the heat. He was used to discomfort.

“Quiet,” Laurent ordered, his hands slithering up Damen’s torso, up his neck, and then he clamped his hand over Damen’s mouth as Damen had so kindly done to him earlier. He truly should have seen it coming. “Consider this the returned favour for how you treated me in your room.”

Laurent grinned, drilling that in as a joke and nothing more.

* * *

Laurent stilled, leaving him gasping for friction and working his hips as much as he possibly could. He was exhausted from trying, but the thought of not having Laurent, of being delayed even a moment later was very much a form of torture. 

“How can I be quiet when—“

Oh, he was going to fuck Laurent into the afterlife. Damen glared as his mouth was covered, fingers digging into his hips. In retaliation, he pointedly took a hand front Laurent’s hip and wrapped it around his cock instead.

He thumbed at the slit, squeezing more than stroking due to the fast that he had no oil to slick Laurent with. 

All the while, he kept Laurent’s gaze, daring him to stay silent.

* * *

If it were anyone else, Laurent would have been able to keep his expression schooled, his body lax, his eyes challenging, but it was /Damen/. The one and only man who could undo him.

“I will bind your hands next time,” Laurent grit, and just for doing that, he squeezed around Damen, for now matter what Damen tried right now, Laurent was still very much in—

Someone knocked.

“/What?/“ Laurent barked instantly, eyes dark on Damen, not breaking the challenge just because of one little visitor.

It was Paschal who spoke through the door.

“I was merely—“ Paschal started as Jord allowed him entrance, but once he saw what was happening, he took a step back behind the filigree wall, his eyes averted. Paschal had more of a reaction than Jord did. Jord was, unfortunately, used fo this. Jord leaned against the door, kept his eyes turned down the hallway. Paschal, to his credit, did not seem at all fazed. He had caught Auguste like this many a time, after all, and Laurent was - as Paschal and Jord both confidently knew - going to marry this man.

“I wished to make sure you were still feeling well,” Paschal began, bowing just enough for it to be respectful of the Akielon culture. “But, as it seems, I take it you are feeling well?”

“Perfect, thank you,” Laurent responded.

“And the...King of Akielos?” Jord asked /as a guard should/. Laurent looked down at Damen with an expression that only made that point as he freed Damen’s mouth.

* * *

The game was beginning. Damen thought of the inn, the games they had played there between kisses and lovemaking. How the taste of Laurent’s mouth was always on his lips, how he only needed to move and he would feel Laurent’s warm body beside him, sleepy and languid. Now things were sharper, but nonetheless tinged with the same toying.

He smiled against Laurent’s hand, but his eyelids fluttered a moment later as Laurent tightened around him, so he squeezed back in kind.

The knock made him start, gaze flicking to the door. He rolled his eyes upon hearing Paschal, but then let out a quiet sound of surprise when suddenly both Jord and Paschal came into full view and were /staring/ at them. Damen was immediately mortified, trying to free his mouth from Laurent’s hand. Jord looked exasperated by the whole affair, and Paschal uncomfortable.

Damen was going to die of embarrassment. He paid no attention to the circumstances of Laurent freeing his mouth, only that he could speak again.

“I think,” he said, letting the week’s anger stir his blood one more, “that I would like to be left along with the king.” He began working Laurent’s cock again, in full view. Paschal’s eyes widened for a moment, and his cheeks flushed as he looked away. “Out,” Damen ordered, eyes on Laurent. “Leave us.”

He hoped his confidence didn’t come off as thin as it felt.

* * *

/Oh/.

Laurent had expected...many things that were not which had happened. He’d expected to have to coax Damen back into this, had expected to have to start over or end it all together. He expected Damen to flush and soften, expected a whole conversation after—

But instead, Damen stroked him. Right there. In the open.

/Laurent/ was the one to flush.

He even keened the smallest bit, having not at all anticipate them continued pleasure, and therefore, he had no safety net of a fixed expression. He didn’t have the wherewithal to hold back the little noise in the back of his throat. Laurent bit his own lip, focused his gaze down on Damen until the two intruders left. 

And then they were alone again.

“Interesting,” Laurent said as he tried to reclaim his haughtiness and control. “You surprise me by the day.” 

* * *

A victory. Damen was still shaking slightly from the adrenaline, but he had won. He’d caught Laurent off guard, managed to keep himself hard (the real victory), and earned that flush on Laurent’s cheeks. That little noise didn’t escape him either, and it flooded Damen’s false confidence with the true kind.

“I do not lose,” Damen teased. He moved himself up onto his elbow, slowly beginning to stroke Laurent’s cock. He wasn’t given enough credit for his size. He wasn’t given enough credit for many things.

Had he really done that? In front of Paschal? In front of /Jord/?

“Let me have you,” Damen coaxed. “I cannot take another moment, I have missed you too much."

* * *

“I suppose that is your one consistent trait,” Laurent murmured, just on the edge of a moan he would not allow to escape.

It was nice to see Damen stay hard through that, nice to see that confidence in him he had been lacking since Fynn’s arrival. Laurent had needed to see that, needed to be reminded how much he loved it, as infuriating as it could be in different contexts. But in the bedroom, it was Laurent’s favourite trait, made him want to give Damen back any kind of control.

Made Laurent want to give up his.

So newly inspired, Laurent began to move his hips as he sat back up, his hands mindfully placed on Damen’s chest as he sat himself in the proper position to ride Damen. Of course, Laurent found poise and elegance in the most base of tasks, not too far gone from himself to abandon his own confidence and pride.

He would hold control while he could, but after just two pushes back inside of him, he was reminded why he enjoyed this so much. 

* * *

Laurent was beautiful on top of him. Damen wished he didn’t desire fucking him so intensely so he could simply watch him move. Instead, he tipped his head back and let out a shaky exhale, panting as Laurent rode his cock.

He let himself be noisy this time, as he had at the inn. His moans were loud, his calls of Laurent’s name were bold, his curses unabashed. His fingers curled against Laurent’s hips, helping him with every movement against him.

This. This was what he had so desperately needed over the past few weeks.

It didn’t take long for Damen to find himself slick with sweat, the familiar tension in his abdomen that meant he was blessedly close.

“Laurent,” he gasped, bucking his hips as best he could. He would be very sore, he was sure. “I’m close—“

* * *

Laurent was coming undone, and he was not quite sure just what it was that had affected him so. He knew it was not the time away from doing this - as much as he was enjoying himself, he would never be in a place where lack of sex affected his desires any more than normal, especially not to a place of abandon.

Perhaps it was the unabashed moans, the proud call of his name, out for /anyone/ to hear. Before Damen, no suitor has ever been able to prise Laurent’s thighs open, and before that, he’d never slept with someone who wanted to praise him so loudly.

It also could have been just watching Damen come undone under him. Laurent did all he could to watch it, to watch Damen’s expressions, to hear his every noise as Laurent found a way to make riding a cock look elegant. His back was an arch, his fingertips on Damen’s chest, balancing him, keeping him upright, and his ass was curved at just the right angle to take the most of Damen in he’s ever had hopes to. Even as he neared his release, Laurent managed to keep a rhythm, only reaching behind him a few times to keep Damen inside of him when his rhythm involved him grinding down and lifting up to the tip of Damen’s cock before sinking back down again.

But it got to a point where Laurent was reliant on Damen’s thrusts up into him, when his own rhythm broke, when he gasped or groaned, when his eyes fluttered close and his cock leaked between them.

His voice was hoarse when he called out for Damen, much softer than Damen was, fisting his own length now in his hand, chasing his orgasm, feeling it knot in his stomach, feeling it make his thighs clench, his back bow—

And he was cumming.

Laurent gasped as it hit him, shutting his eyes right as he chased that orgasm, clenched around Damen as he milked himself. His pretty lips had been chewed pink, his cheeks flushed, as he stilled his hips, giving himself over to Damen should he need to take over - should he need to take as he desired.

* * *

Laurent took some time to unravel, but he was beautiful when he did. His blond hair was damp with sweat, sticking to his temples in dark curls against his skin. Every sound that left his lips was heaven, and every movement of his body brought him closer to release. He couldn’t imagine ever enjoying sex with anyone else when he had such completeness with Laurent.

The sound of his name had Damen bucking up with more force, sensing that Laurent was close. Sure enough, he spilled a few moments later. Damen was thankful Laurent came first this time, and he looked flushed and limp with pleasure.

Damen sat up, gently turning them both to the side so he could find his release. His fingers twisted in Laurent’s hair as he fucked into him properly. His lips found Laurent’s neck, kissing feverishly until he was at the brink of orgasm.

“Laurent,” he groaned, pushing them both over so that Laurent was on his back. Damen bottomed out, then he was spilling hot, hips stuttering as he was overwhelmed with the debilitating pleasure of it. “You’re perfect,” he slurred, panting against Laurent’s neck. “I have been without you too long."

* * *

Laurent held to Damen as he was moved about, and when Damen began to chase his relief, Laurent placed open mouth kisses wherever he could on Damen’s body, his jaw slack with pleasure as he just rode out his orgasm through it.

When Damen spilled inside of him, Laurent let out a little sound of pleasure that could only be likened to that exact moment. It was always something like euphoria, something soft and stemmed from fatigue.

He’d not made the sound in their earlier tryst of the day.

Spent as he was however, Laurent still had the strength to remind Damen, once more, “That remains your fault.”

He followed it up with a kiss, and then he lay back on the bed, catching his breath, coming down, not making a single move to go grab a towel this time.

* * *

There was noting quite like fucking. Especially fucking Laurent. Damen rolled his eyes at the little jab, and when he was finished milking himself through, he reluctantly pulled out only to flop on his back beside his lover to catch his breath.

He was glistening with sweat, fully spent, and quivering with exertion. He didn’t understand how Laurent could had lived so long without the enjoyment of a good partner in bed, especially when he could have had whomever he wanted.

It was some minutes of basking in post-coital bliss before Damen retrieved a damp towel so clean them up. He was quick to clean himself, but took his time with Laurent, ensuring he would have no stickiness between his legs or on his stomach.

Then he tossed the cloth away and pulled Laurent to his chest, kissing his hair.

“I hope you know I will never do that again,” Damen chuckled as he pulled a sheet over them. “If we are interrupted again, I will not be able to finish."

* * *

“So long as you don’t call the council’s watchful eye an interruption, than that should be fine,” Laurent drew out, looking up at Damen as he was cleaned up. This was still quite strange for Laurent, being the one attended after sex. Really, it was something he could have done on his own, but having Damen do it, the King of Akielos...

It was not something Laurent would complain about.

He moved against Damen’s chest, tucked in there comfortably, and - after a moment of beautiful and mutual silence - he coughed. One turned into another, and then Laurent was in a small fit before his chest cleared again. He cleared his throat a few times and chuckled.

“I am well,” he said before Damen could worry. “Exertion, I believe.” He did not feel the need to cough again, anyways. It was the very last remnant of any sort of symptom Laurent showed from his escapade out in the cold.

“I am impressed,” Laurent said in hopes of continuing on with what they had been discussing. “As predictable as I thought you were, you have found more and more ways to surprise me as of late.”

* * *

Damen was immediately worried by Laurent’s coughing. His brow creased, his hand resting on Laurent’s back to offer what support he could. He felt each spasm of Laurent’s lungs, and didn't believe him when he said he was well. but everything had seemed alright before and during their time in bed, so Damen decided not to call for Paschal anyway.

“I felt you would become bored of me if I didn’t surprise you occasionally,” Damen admitted. Fynn had only exacerbated that in him.

He kissed Laurent’s forehead and held him close again, not wanting to discuss it anymore. For the first time in over a week he was happy, warm, and sated.

“Are you sure you are well?” he finally asked. “I can call for Leopold—I would rather not face Paschal until tomorrow."

* * *

Laurent /laughed/ at that, shoulders shaking as he tucked his face into Damen’s chest.

“I am fine,” Laurent repeated when he could. “I do not think I have exerted myself like that since I was ill. Less energy goes into my being cruel than you might think.” Laurent did not even yell unless he was /irate/, so his lungs had probably just not been expecting the equivalent on time on the training field.

“Paschal has seen you naked before,” Laurent chuckled, “Many times, actually. Having your cock in me does not make you a different man.”

Damen and his /sensibilities/. It was still so strange to Laurent - a society that sported in the nude, but recoiled at Vere’a unabashed nature of pleasure. It would be some time before he ever understood that.

“And come to think, I nearly believed you /enjoyed/ being caught just now.”

* * *

“It does!” Damen sputtered, his cheeks flushing. “It’s unseemly.” He didn’t necessarily regret what he had done—Laurent was far too attractive for him to wish he had pulled out or allowed himself to be embarrassed. But he could certainly feel it now.

“I did not enjoy it!” Damen made sure to add. “Why on earth would I want to be interrupted?” He rolled to his back, covering his face with his arm. He didn’t care if Laurent had wanted him to enjoy it, he could never. Showing off his lovely Soren at the inn had been one thing, but Laurent’s physician watching them in bed was another.

He sighed after a moment, his fingers playing at the nape of Laurent’s neck.

“It is good to be back in this bed, however,” he murmured. “You must replace the mattress in my room—no wonder your guests always seem irritable. Could we have Fynn stay there? Maybe he will leave faster."

* * *

Laurent took a great amount of joy in hearing Damen defend himself and his interests - or the lack thereof. It was strange for such a man who looked and fucked as Damen did to be so shy, so prudish. There was so little to be so demure about. Laurent was the one taking his cock, after all, and he had no complaints about watchful eyes. Yes, when in reality presence of others, he would certainly act different in bed, but little glances here and there would not affect him so greatly.

Damen was absolutely adorable.

“You’ve seen them Veretian nobles,” Laurent chuckled. “People like to be interrupted, like to be /seen/, to show off their power and prowess. It’s like hunting and bringing back the largest boar. You flaunt what gifts you have. Veretians are nothing if not excessive.”

Excessive and cruel. Perhaps even excessive in their cruelty...or cruel in their excess.

“And I’ll have you know, you were given the better of the two beds,” Laurent informed Damen. “This is not a situation where I would disregard your station for a duke’s. I happen to care for you. Greatly.”

But there were others Laurent would belittle and disregard for fun, and that could not be forgotten.

* * *

“You happen to care for me?” Damen teased, curling his finger under Laurent’s chin for a moment. “To think I am winning over the Veretian king.” It was much better to have Laurent close like this, to have his safety and certainty. Sleeping in another room gave Damen’s mind plenty of time to wander, and he hated that it always ended up with feeling like Laurent didn’t want him. He hated that their relationship could feel so fragile even when it was so strong.

"It wasn't just Jokaste,” Damen said rather suddenly, looking over to Laurent. “When I had my army again after I revealed myself. I thought what we had was so strong then, and instead you shut me out completely. And you gave me that whip.”

He remembered the feeling of abandonment then, the sharp pain in his gut that somehow, impossibly, he might have misjudged Laurent.

Damen worried his lower lip. “I suppose Fynn had me concerned that…well, if Kempt was truly a better off than Akielos, our love would not matter anymore. The same way it didn’t matter then and was cast aside for too long. I could not bear that happening now."

* * *

Laurent rolled his eyes at Damen, still tucked into his chest, inhaling the scent that was so /Damen/, mixed with the scent that very much was their coupling. God, he hoped he didn’t smell like that when he went to visit Fynn. His lie had already been so flimsy.

He pressed a kiss to Damen’s chest, traced his thumb ever so gently over the piercing—

And stopped when Damen spoke again.

There was a streak of guilt that ran through Laurent, but what could he truly say? He could not say their love /had/ mattered then, because Laurent certainly had not showed it. He had been cruel to Damen even then, still warring through the emotions he felt for the man that he was meant to destroy - the man meant to destroy him, had his uncle had his way.

“I...still thought I hated you, then,” Laurent tried to explain. “I wanted to hate you then, wasn’t even sure how I could do anything but hate you. But I could not do that to you now, Damen.” Laurent hoped Damen could see how different things were now. He hoped Damen could see that would never happen again.

“If I thought Kempt a better match, I would have told you outright. I am not—“ He’d almost said he was not the same person he had been back then, but he very much was. He just understood his feelings for Damen now, no longer lived his life just to thwart his uncle. Laurent was still the princeling he had been then. Damen had made it clear during their fight just days ago.

“I have no desire to betray you,” Laurent said plainly. “I hope you will understand that - understand that I am...working on my lover’s mannerisms and the truth that comes with them.”

* * *

Damen had known Laurent didn’t hate him then. There was no mistaking the way Laurent had loved him, no mistaking what they had shared. And yet Laurent had thrown it all aside, ignored him and humiliated him as he staged a rebellion against his own brother, with only Nikandros at his side for many tense days.

“Then why can’t you be affectionate with me in front of our people?” Damen asked. “No one starts gossiping when we kiss before a meal or hold hands, but the whole kingdom is talking about how you left with Fynn today. You have never whisked me from the table in such a way.”

Laurent was still termed a cast-iron bitch, but Damen felt that ideal might wane if he continued to spend such long stretches away with Fynn—especially when they had been this public. Damen wanted to say that Jokaste hadn’t wanted to betray him either, but she had still stuffed him into a slaver’s boat.

“Tell me you love me,” Damen said quietly. “Show them, tell me."

* * *

Laurent closed his eyes where he lay and sighed into Damen’s chest. He did not have the will to push this into an argument, did not have the strength to spiral with this one.

“You know I love you,” Laurent murmured, fixed in tone. “Even when you are trying to drive me off a cliff with these demands of yours.”

He made it a joke, pushed back so he could level his gaze on Damen, a smirk on his lips - anything to diffuse this. This was not how he wanted this night to dissolve, but when they were both finally coming around again, finally finding what they had begun to lose.

“Can I not just have an evening with you?,” Laurent asked Damen in hopes of appeasing him.

* * *

Demands? Damen didn’t think he was demanding anything outlandish. He simply wanted Laurent to love him openly, to allow /their/ relationship to incite gossip. People gossiped about what their lives must be like for Damen to convince Laurent to be with him, but many still saw it as a relationship where one of them held the power and the other was forced to go along with it.

Yet Laurent was trying to ignore the conversation, not agreeing to show their kingdom just how much they loved each other. Damen sighed, pulling Laurent in close again.

He wasn’t sure what to say. So he kissed Laurent’s forehead and said nothing, his fingers wandering the line of Laurent’s spine, his eyes blank.

Perhaps Laurent had his reasonings for keeping their love so private. It made no sense to Damen, but he could do nothing to change it beyond asking, and he had been ignored. He had Laurent naked in his bed, fresh from lovemaking, so he supposed he had to be thankful for that and keep his thoughts on the positive.

* * *

They didn’t talk much after that. Laurent tried to not let things go sour, gave Damen soft kisses here and there because he could /feel/ something was not right with Damen.

He’d wanted to talk about it. Obviously. And Laurent had thought pushing it off for another day might have helped, but it did not surprise him that that was not how Damen thought. Laurent had merely deemed that they had been through enough the past week, and they needed a moment of just...togetherness.

He thought it helped.

It helped him anyway, he quickly learned. Laurent slept better than he had all week, tucked right into Damen’s chest, perhaps uncomfortably for the man himself. A king who could not sleep was prone to exhaustion and to mistakes, prone to falling ill and losing his kingdom, as Laurent very much almost had just days ago. In his sleep, he did cough once or twice, but it was nothing.

Until he woke up with a soreness in his throat that made him momentarily think back to what exactly he had done with Damen last night. Upon instant reminder there has been nothing with his throat involved, he slipped from the bed. Damen, it seemed, was sleeping as well as Laurent had been, and he needed it. Laurent knew he needed it. He had not seen him so at peace since Fynn’s arrival in Vere. So Laurent slipped from the bed as quietly as he could, tossed on a night shirt and some trousers and snuck out.

It was early, and the palace was beginning to wake, but Laurent already knew where Paschal would be.

Guards let him pass through easily into Fynn’s room, where Laurent spotted Paschal, already awake, bent over Fynn’s bed, his hand to Fynn’s forehead.

“Paschal,” Laurent greeted quietly, not sure of Fynn’s state of waking. “I need your attention.”


	13. Part I: The Calm

Damen didn’t stay awake long, and his sleep was heavy—almost smothering. He unconsciously pulled Laurent as close to him as he could, wrapping tight around him to keep him warm. HIs guard softened, his limbs finally releasing the pent-up stress he had been carrying for the week. He murmured softly when Laurent stirred, brow creasing when he no longer felt Laurent in bed beside him.

Fynn had not been so lucky with sleep. His fever burned the night through, making him sweat and freeze at the same time. His breathing was shallow, his eyes glazed with sickness.

Paschal reluctantly looked up, thinking Laurent had come to visit with Fynn again. “You Majesty—“ He stopped himself, Laurent’s words finally registering. “Are you ill?” The last thing he needed was for Laurent to fall ill to this persistent sickness.

Fynn sucked in a labored breath, his eyes fluttering open. “Laurent? What’s wrong?"

* * *

“Not ill,” Laurent dismissed, as he could barely consider himself unwell when this close to Fynn who was so clearly worse off. He was surprised Fynn was even awake. “I’ve a light cough at most. I only wanted to have you aware of it.”

“Your majesty,” Paschal began, his voice giving way to his shock, “You have not come to me for preventative measures since you were but a boy, I—“

“I am aware,” Laurent dismissed, taking a seat next to Paschal. It did not need to be a discussion. “What shall I do?”

Paschal crosses to his bag in search of whatever he felt he might need, and Laurent moved his eyes over to Fynn. He was sat just next to his bed, so it was not a difficult feat.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?“ Laurent asked as Paschal made his way back to Laurent, knelt before him and began to rub around different areas of his neck. That alone caused Laurent to cough, but Paschal did not look too worried by that.

* * *

Fynn appreciated that Laurent was close this time, but he was worried. Fever clouded his mind, morphing Laurent into different animals and shapes right before his eyes. There was no way he could sleep when being awake meant he could be in Laurent’s company.

“There is no way I can sleep when being awake means I can be in your company,” Fynn murmured, then furrowed his brow. “Did I…I said that already.” He hummed softly, eyes falling closed. Heat billowed under his blankets, yet Fynn felt as though his skin would turn to ice if he dared to take them off.

“His fever keeps him awake,” Paschal murmured as he worked. “He has weakened again.”

“You look rested,” Fynn said as his eyes fell closed. “A good night with your king, hm?” He grinned.

“Your hair,” he explained. “Never seen it so messy."

* * *

“Do you think I’ve a servant to brush my hair as I sleep?” Laurent asked, trying to make the moment he raked his fingers through his hair look natural. “I sleep on pillows just as you do.”

Laurent didn’t know why he was still skirting around the fact he had so clearly slept with Damen. Paschal has seen it, as had Jord. There was proof he had done it, and yet he didn’t want Fynn to know, kept avoiding the topic. It was something like guilt, like he should not brag about it in front of a man who wanted to be with him while another had him.

“If you would open your mouth,” Paschal interrupted, and Laurent had no qualms with the distraction. He showed his throat to Paschal who, in return, did some more rubbing about the sides. He gave a little nod when Laurent had to turn his head to cough, and Paschal crosses back to his bed.

“You look terrible,” Laurent told Fynn, reaching across to place his hand on Fynn’s forehead, feeling the heat absolutely radiating off of him. Laurent frowned, flipped his hand and felt again.

“Perhaps you should focus more on your recovery than on me,” Laurent murmured, offering Fynn a wry smile.

* * *

Fynn had a thousand questions he wanted to ask about Laurent’s night with Damen. It fascinated that a man who spoke of not particularly enjoying sex had clearly spent the night doing just that. Laurent looked…refreshed. He didn’t look like he’d been made to suffer a hot-blooded Akielon king.

He forced his eyes to open as he watched Paschal peer down Laurent’s throat, and Fynn had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at /one/ potential cause for Laurent’s throat feeling sore.

“I’ve had all night to focus on my recovery,” Fynn countered. “I also seem to remember you being told not to see me for two days. You couldn’t stay away?”

Laurent’s hand was cool on his forehead, pleasant and nauseating at the same time. Fynn let out a hum of approval.

“Don’t fall ill, Laurent,” Fynn murmured. “You should have called Paschal to your chambers. We can’t have both kings coming down with a sickness from a Kemptian duke. I would be hanged, I think."

* * *

Laurent had not wanted to wake Damen, not had he wanted to startle him with a small cough that was accompanied by no other ailment. That was the only reason he had come to this room. Yes, he would have checked on Fynn throughout the day anyway, but he definitely did not need to in that moment. He’d just been worried about himself. It was completely selfish.

That was it.

And Laurent convinced himself of that, even as he felt Fynn’s cheek, gauging the spread of the fever.

Paschal interrupted again, this time handing Laurent a cup with some mixture liquid inside of it that smelled terribly strong - like liquorice and something sour. Laurent withdrew just hand to take it.

It tastes terrible, but the moment he sipped it, he knew he had been given this before. It had been many years, but Laurent remembered having to drink it after a long trip to Marlas as a child. He and Auguste had both been made to, so as to keep their health, and Auguste had had to force Laurent to drink it when he had so stubbornly refused.

“Finish that,” Paschal told him. “The cough seems to be residual, and you show no signs of worsening...so long as you return to your room.” Paschal added the last bit cautiously. He had been on the receiving end of Laurent’s anger for these past few days, but he seemed to be a little more reasonable this morning. Of course, Paschal knew why, but he would or comment.

“The Herzog needs to sleep,” Paschal continued, and Laurent shot Fynn and pointed look that could only mean ‘I told you so.’

Laurent nodded and stood, resolutely throwing back the sludge of a mixture before handing the cup back to Paschal. It took everything for him not to gag, his face fixed so unnaturally hard that it was clear he was struggling.

He watched Paschal hand the same liquid to Fynn.

“Good luck with that,” Laurent murmured, arms crossed as he looked over Fynn again, this time, his expression Successfully schooled to calm.

* * *

Fynn could smell the drink before he was offered it, and he would have chuckled if it wouldn’t start a complete collapse of his lungs. Laurent looks like he might vomit his concoction back up again, and Fynn appreciated the look on his face as he tried to school himself. Everyone spoke of Laurent like he was a master of deception, but Fynn thought he could see through Laurent’s lies and half-truths quite easily.

“You need to study your mother’s lands,” Fynn clucked as he took the mug from Paschal. He swallowed the mixture—it wasn’t pleasant, but he didn’t balk. “The herb is of Kempt, and tastes quite good when…in different form.”

He swallowed down the mixture quickly, smacking his lips but otherwise unfazed. He had long since been accustomed to the foul taste of the herb—enough that he could tell Paschal had used dried herbs and not fresh.

“You feed me such easy things to impress you with,” Fynn teased. “I would be happy to do more."

* * *

“I had to keep expectations low with you when we were younger,” Laurent responded easily, quite a bit more confidently. “I’ve never raised them for fear of disappointment.”

“Your majesty,” Paschal interrupted softly, testing his luck with Laurent’s mood. “You really should be leaving. You are already compromised.”

“Yes, yes,” Laurent agreed, clearing his throat and nodding. “I suppose one of us should be well, or we’ll never get time together.”

With that, Laurent took Fynn’s hand and gave it a soft squeeze. His palms were clammy, but Laurent did not allow himself to frown.

* * *

“Good thing I haven’t disappointed you, then,” Fynn purred, but his face gave way to his pain. His breathing turned shallow again, new beads of sweat forming at his temples as he roasted under the covers.

He opened his eyes as Laurent took his hand and tried to smile, but it never made it to his lips. Instead, he returned the squeeze to his hand and closed his eyes again. he didn’t even have the strength to say goodbye.

Damen hadn’t even noticed Laurent’s absence. He remained strewn across their bed, breathing deeply, the covers a tangled mess around his body. His dark curls hung in his eyes, and his lips were parted slightly to breathe heavily—not quite snoring.

He was comfortable enough to sleep on his stomach, a rarity when he was so used to holding Laurent to him or having Laurent asleep on his chest. But this morning he slept peacefully, and far too deeply to wake when Laurent reentered.

* * *

Jord was just taking his spot at Laurent’s door when the king returned, and Laurent noticed Lucien at his side, whispering something to Jord before he could avoid being caught by Laurent’s gaze. Lucien was just pressing a kiss to Jord’s cheek when he noticed Laurent, and his entire face went red as he bowed his head in respect.

“Good morning,” Laurent greeted with a smirk, eyes on Jord who was trying his best to seem unperturbed by Laurent catching them. Lucien was wrapped in but a sheet, but he walked with enough that grace that Laurent could assume Jord was not yet fucking the boy. He was a romantic, that one.

“Good morning, your majesty,” Lucien responded. “I only—“

“Do as you’d like,” Laurent dismissed. “I am retiring back to my bed for a while. I should not be in immediate danger unless the Akielon king decides—“ Laurent had to stop to cough, but it was still dry, mostly a tickle. He waved it away and the waved to them, wishing for them to proceed as they chose. Laurent definitely found a pleasure in seeing Lucien's happiness despite everything.

He hoped one day he could see it in his uncle’s boy, as well, chalk them both up as successes in Laurent’s own little personal liberations.

With that, Laurent moved back into his room, stripped back down to just his bed shirt, and made his way back to bed.

Damen was still out cold, sleeping soundly, and Laurent couldn’t help but let his heart swell at the very sight. Laurent traced his fingertip over Damen’s parted lips as he crawled back into bed, whispered soothingly to him so as not to startle him awake.

“No one is here to kill you,” Laurent whispered as he moved under the covers, right up against Damen. “Not today, anyway.”

* * *

Damen shifted when Laurent crawled into bed and wrinkled his face when Laurent’s fingers touched his lips. He let out a warning grunt at the touch before burrowing his face into the mattress to be more snug.

Once Laurent was tucked against him, Damen snatched up the covers and rolled away, searching for the warmth of the nearby brazier. He continued his deep sleep until the noise of the palace became so incessant that he couldn’t stay asleep any longer.

He sat up almost immediately, rubbing his eyes. The night was a blur in his memory, but a very pleasant one. He remembered that yes, Laurent had invited him to sleep here, and that Fynn was still sick, so he wouldn’t be interrupting.

“Breakfast,” he muttered, still rubbing his eyes. “I’m starving."

* * *

Laurent blinked his eyes open just as Damen rolled /away/. He usually pulled Laurent insufferably closer, tried to suffocate his lover. But Damen had turned his back to Laurent - in sleep, yes, but Laurent had had different expectations.

It didn’t deter him too much, however. Damen was as brutish a sleeper as anything else some time, so Laurent instead pressed his back to Damen’s and found sleep just a few moments later.

Laurent woke before Damen did, and while Damen slept on, Laurent pulled from the stack of parchment by his bed, taking the time to get his signatures on a few decrees, setting those aside that he did not care for without an audience with its creator.

He barely glanced at Damen when he did sit up, halfway through reading a complaint about land division in Barbin. Laurent called for the breakfast, but didn’t say much more, giving Damen a moment to fully wake.

Laurent was tentative on when he finally spoke. They had been apart for so many mornings now, and he could not be sure of where they were this morning.

“How did you sleep?” he asked Damen after clearing a bit of crud from his throat. Paschal’s tonic was working fast. “Better than on your trundle bed?”

* * *

Laurent was awake. Damen blinked at the sound of him clearing his throat, then reclined again. He did not want to wake up yet, but he also didn’t want to lose any time with Laurent. It felt a little aimless to be a visiting king in a country that was soon to be under his rule. It was easier with Laurent, but he knew some day he would be expected to make visits here alone.

He moved over to kiss Laurent’s bare hip, sliding his hand over the mattress and over Laurent’s leg, thumbing over soft skin of his inner thigh.

“I slept wonderfully,” Damen purred with another kiss. He looked over the documents in Laurent’s lap and rolled his eyes. “Why do you have papers? Come to bed.”

He grabbed the papers himself and pushed them to the floor. In the same moment he pushed himself up from the mattress to capture Laurent’s lips in a kiss.

“Bed,” he murmured against Laurent’s mouth. “Save the decrees for when I’m gone."

* * *

Laurent hummed softly in approval at the way Damen was touching him this morning. He loved these moments they had alone, these soft and quiet minutes meant just for them. Damen was so warm, such a presence to be blessed with.

Laurent’s skin tingled every place Damen touched it.

It seemed they would be well, then.

“You /were/ gone,” Laurent informed Damen as he placed aside the one paper his betrothed had not been able to grab at. “Should a war never commence while you are asleep. I fear Akielon troops would have no charge.”

He leant down to kiss the crown of Damen’s curls before sliding down to be held as he’d expected when he returned to bed the first time this morning.

“Breakfast will be here soon. Do not get too ahead of yourself.”

* * *

“/You/ were gone,” Damen returned with another kiss. He wondered if Laurent would ever find a day where he didn’t think to chastise Damen for things he was equally guilty of. He also took pride in the fact that Laurent knew full well that he could be awake in a flash should he need to be. His sleep hardly mattered against defending Laurent.

Damen took Laurent into his arms greedily, finally allowed his prize. “How can I be ahead of myself? I could bring you to completion before breakfast arrives.” He wanted to try it, but he didn’t want to relive last night’s…show.

“How long have you been awake?” Damen asked sleepily. His eyes fluttered closed, and he kept Laurent snug against him. “Waking early to tend to kingly duties?"

* * *

Damen /could/ bring Laurent to completion before breakfast arrived, Laurent very well knew, but he knew he could easily do the same for Damen. If he weren’t so worried about aggravating his throat, he probably would have, just to make a point.

It was not as if he was given the opportunity. Before Laurent could even nip the idea, he was being crushed against Damen as he had expected to be last night. Laurent arched his back to find a more comfortable spot in the hold, unapologetically snuggling against Damen, taking in his scent as it mixed with the Veretian perfumes that Laurent had undoubtedly rubbed off onto the sheets. It was familiar, it was /calming/.

“I have been awake for some time,” Laurent told Damen after a series of little kisses to his collarbone and chest. “I met with Paschal briefly to discuss the cough from last night, just so I could assure you that I was absolutely fine, and then I slept a bit longer until waking before you /again/, and then I tended to a few requests and documents and other ‘kingly duties’, yes.”

Like visiting the duke he’d almost killed while also upholding the illusion of their competition.

* * *

“

It sounds as if I didn’t pleasure you thoroughly enough then,” Damen hummed into a kiss. “But I’m glad to hear you’re well.” The first night of Laurent’s illness had been unbearable—he had been convinced for some hours that he was going to lose the love of his life to cold.

Breakfast arrived, consisting of fluffy biscuits and jam, fresh butter, and cooked eggs. Damen ate nearly half the platter on his own, gulping it down with the supplied breakfast tea that warmed him immensely.

“Delicious,” he said around a mouthful of biscuit. “Veretian jam is especially sweet.” He lifted his hand, gently caressing the line of Laurent’s jaw with the back of his finger. “As sweet as you can be, when you feel like it,” Damen teased, but it was fond.

Yes, today was going to be a wonderful day. His belly was full, his body rested, and he had Laurent at his side in only a night shirt. He laid back on the mattress and sighed, perfectly content.

“Will you show me what you wanted to show me that day we went to the springs?” Damen asked, fingering the hem of Laurent’s thin night shirt. “You never told me what it was. I should like to see it."

* * *

The /springs/.

It felt like a decade ago, but had merely been closer to a month. Damen sitting in the springs, safe from the cold, just hours out from being drugged by Laurent’s council, just a night away from Laurent having a man castrated for daring to do such a thing to Damen.

Things had never been simple for Laurent and Damen, but even /that/ felt simpler in hindsight.

And now, Damen wanted to further complicate things.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

It would be strange, without a doubt. Laurent had mentioned the memorial to his brother many times, but with all the recent happenings, he almost felt strange visiting his brother - almost felt /guilty/. It was not even his brothers’ body there - merely a carving of his likeness - but Laurent had always turned to it over going to the family grave. It felt more real to see Auguste’s likeness in a place he had seen him so many times alive.

Well, Laurent supposed it would be an excellent opportunity to talk about his future with Damen, the plans he had for their rule, for Marlas itself.

Laurent chewed over his last piece of fruit, thinking over the pros and cons before ultimately nodding.

“I suppose I’m feeling sweet,” Laurent smirked, wiping the corners of his mouth on a napkin before discarding it and nearly /collapsing/ on top of Damen. “I will take you to see it, yes.”

* * *

Damen watched as Laurent thought how to answer. He wondered what was making him hesitate, why he seemed conflicted about taking his soon-to-be husband to a place in the kingdom they would soon oversee together. Unless Laurent doubted that Damen would be the one beside him.

Laurent had not yet spoken of Fynn, and Damen wasn’t sure what to think of it. It wasn’t like Laurent to forget something like that, no matter how fulfilling their lovemaking could be.

But he readily accepted Laurent into his arms and kissed his nose. Perhaps he should be kinder. Fynn was never going to get the chance to see Laurent like this, to spend his morning with him, breakfast in bed.

“Good,” he finally replied, pulling Laurent closer yet again.

“I assume Paschal told you that the duke hasn’t passed?” But a more pressing though occurred. “We should ask him before you leave the palace. I will not allow myself to follow Fynn’s lead in endangering your health in the cold."

* * *

Laurent knew a trap when he saw one, whether Damen knew he was setting it or not. For the second time this morning, Laurent warred with a decision, tiptoed around what might be the next tremor to start a landslide between them.

But a visit to Paschal meant a visit to Fynn, and Laurent knew that would give away his earlier whereabouts of this morning.

So he tangled his legs with Damen’s, both to pull him closer and to wrangle him should he think to fight over this.

He would not allow Damen to be blindsided.

“Paschal is posted in Fynn’s rooms,” Laurent told Damen, putting that straight out there and letting Damen piece it together. “You will be subjecting yourself to a visit with the duke should you want to visit Paschal.”

And Paschal would instruct Laurent to wear a /ridiculous/ coat.

* * *

Damen wasn’t a fan of Fynn’s by any means, but outside of Laurent, he didn’t see how much harm a sick man could inflict. Especially if it meant Laurent would be safe in leaving the palace. Damen hadn’t been keeping much track of the weather over the past few days, so he had no idea if the snow has worsened or melted altogether. He hadn’t even seen sun since he’d brought Laurent home.

“Then we will go to Fynn’s room,” Damen said simply, completely missing what Laurent had laid out for him. “Paschal will see you and once he gives approval, we will go.”

Fynn was probably asleep, and even if he wasn’t, he doubted a sickly duke would be able to offer any kind of competition.

“Your shoulders are so tight,” Damen noted as he rubbed Laurent’s back. “I could massage you before we go…unless you had other plans for how we will spend our morning?"

* * *

Laurent knew immediately that the exchange was too easy, but he didn’t question it any further than that. He was far too distracted already imagining what catty words his two suitors would have with each other if Fynn was awake when they went to see Paschal.

He’d face it when he needed to.

Laurent supposed he should have a coat prepped.

A massage this morning didn’t sound terrible. Laurent knew a trip to the training field would be better for him than anything, but today didn’t feel like the day for it. With a visit to Auguste on the horizon, Laurent thought it best to prep emotionally for whatever might come of that now. Anything that kept himself and Damen closer would be a better activity for the morning. He could wrestle Damen after, when they would need to break the air, the tension, the strange settling of emotion he had no doubt they would face in this visit together.

It was how Laurent navigated through life, this overthinking, but it had taken no more than a second, and he was brushing his short hair aside, inviting Damen to fulfil the massage he’d just offered.

“Attend me,” he smiled, settling his shoulders so they were not so close to his ears. “I suppose I could use some loosening up.”

* * *

Damen was happy to oblige. He moved so that Laurent could lie on his stomach, and instructed him to remove his shirt as he grabbed the oil on the bedside table. Once he had warmed the oil in his hands, he began to massage Laurent’s shoulder blades, where an enormous amount of tension had settled. Damen worked slowly, but put strength behind his movements to ease the knots.

“No wonder you have been such an ass,” Damen teased, his thumbs circling at the nape of Laurent’s neck to drive away the tension there. “When you come to Ios I will have you attended by the best masseuse in the land. And then I will have her moved to Marlas to attend you every week.”

He could feel several large knots under his fingers right over Laurent’s spine. They would take far more time to fix than they had now, but he worked at them anyway just to help ease some of the tension.

Of course, he did steal kisses along the way. His lips feathered down Laurent’s spine until they were damp with perfumed oil, and just as warm. “We can’t stay forever,” he murmured against Laurent’s neck. “We will lose our daylight, my love."

* * *

Absently, Laurent groaned at the first forceful press of Damen’s thumbs into his neck, his body instantly going pliant. This was the first care his body had truly had since falling from his horse, and that with all the other tension intermingled since then had, yes, made him into a bit of an ass. A very stiff ass.

“I would like it if you did not insult me when I’ve no way of defending myself,” Laurent joked, all but face down into his pillow, completely submitted to Damen’s strength and weight. Even Laurent’s silver tongue was tied, his wits lost to this relieving touch. He grunted as Damen worked out a particularly tough knot, groaned softly when it released.

Laurent did not imagine there would be any better masseuse than Damen. Laurent would never allow himself to find the same comfort in anyone who said they were.

He lost track of time to the massage, opening his eyes only when Damen spoke to him again.

He supposed they had been at it for long enough. Laurent’s skin had gone red under Damen’s hands, and he would likely bruise lightly under the pressure, like a ripe peach dropped from a short height.

“Then we best be off,” Laurent conceded, rising only when he could to ready for their excursion.

“You will need a proper coat,” Laurent told Damen, nodding his head towards the trunk at the end of the bed. “There is one of the Veretian design that would fit you just in there.”

* * *

Damen felt completely constrained by his Veretian coat. It was thick wool, lined with fur and incredibly hard to move in. His neck felt fully trapped, and his movement so limited that anyone could stab him and he wouldn’t be able to defend himself in any way.

“If this is what ‘fitting’ means, we will never visit Arles in winter again,” Damen muttered. He could barely fasten the buttons with how little his arms could move.

Once they were dressed, Damen strode to Laurent with a grin. “You wear winter much better than I,” he praised, pressing a kiss to Laurent’s brow bone. “I won’t cause a fight if Fynn’s awake, I promise. There is no honor in besting a sick man.”

He looped his arms around Laurent’s waist and kissed him properly.

“How do I look? Veretian?"

* * *

Laurent dressed in his own fine coat, ever-restricting as most of his clothing was, as he watched Damen struggle with the fastenings on his own. The measurements seemed a touch off, but that was only because Damen looked so terribly ill at ease. Charls made no mistake on their clothing, would never allow himself to do so, but Damen looked far from contented.

Laurent supposed could have given him a cloak, but this was worth seeing the once if never again.

“You look uncomfortable,” Laurent grinned, his hands resting on the dark dyed wool on the breast of Damen’s coat. It was in the colour of Laurent’s motif - dark blue with white wool - and it truly was a beautiful colour on Damen.

He supposed it /was/ a little tight.

“Have you ever considered not being the size of a cart horse?” Laurent murmured, smartening the laces over Damen’s chest before deeming him presentable. He pinned the fur cloak over Damen’s shoulders, adding to the layers of warmth - and dress - giving him a second pat to let him know he was ready to face the Veretian cold. Safely.

Paschal’s gratitude at seeing his kings in a proper winter attire did not go unnoticed, even if his trepidation was just as apparent.

“Your Majesty—“ Paschal began as Laurent ducked in with Damen at his side. Laurent’s eyes went instantly to Fynn as he checked him over for any progress since this morning. “Your manner of dress suggests another venture into the cold.”

“We are not going far,” Laurent assured Paschal. “A walk just around the grounds. Merely a precaution.”

* * *

“You never complain about my size in bed,” Damen quipped, shrugging his shoulders to try to find room. “I am not used to wool sleeves. They’re horrible.” But he smiled as Laurent pinned a cloak on his shoulders and snuck a kiss to his cheek before they exited. He took Laurent’s hand and squeezed tightly.

True to his word, Damen didn’t care about Fynn when they entered his room. Fynn was struggling to stay awake, but his eyes were so slow moving that Damen was fairly certain he was dozing with his eyes open for seconds at a time. He looked horrible. His skin was covered in sweat, his lips chapped, his breathing shallow. Damen shifted between Fynn and Laurent in an attempt to block whatever waves of sickness might be heading toward his betrothed.

“I will keep a close eye on him,” Damen said, trying to keep the embarrassment from his voice as he thought about the last time he had seen Paschal.

Paschal frowned and stayed silent for a long moment.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But I would ask that you do not leave the grounds. Exposure to the wind might undo all of your progress, Your Majesty.”

“Be safe,” Fynn rasped, his eyes falling closed. His mouth moved to seemingly say more, but he didn’t have the strength.

Damen tried not to bristle. “Are you ready?” he asked impatiently.

“The duke is stubborn,” Paschal cut in. “But he is recovering."

* * *

“I’ve dressed for the wind,” Laurent murmured, settling his eyes on Paschal when Damen stepped between himself and Fynn. “It will not be a long walk.”

And that should have been the end of it.

But of course, Paschal knew what Laurent wanted and needed to hear.

“My kingdom for a man who is anything but stubborn,” Laurent joked wryly, crossing a little closer to Fynn to examine him. He was burning through his fever it seemed, but it didn’t look as if it would be quick. Laurent reached out to brush their sweat damp hair from Fynn’s forehead.

“Be well,” he told Fynn again, mindful of Damen’s presence, but he would not be cruel to a man who did not deserve it. Especially not a friend. Especially not a friend who was ill because of Laurent’s foolish actions.

Laurent cleared his throat of a cough and moved away, back to Damen, and gave him a nod.

“Before it gets dark,” he instructed, nodding towards the door.


	14. Part I: Before (9.8.2020)

* * *

Damen could not hide his discomfort as Laurent approached Fynn right in front of him. He wasn’t used to seeing Laurent soften around /anyone/. Sometimes he was kind to children in open view, but even that was rare. He was kind in hidden ways, but such an intimate gesture toward a relative stranger…Damen’s good mood was quickly waning.

Fynn tried his best to smile when Laurent smoothed his hair to the side, but it was hard to focus. He knew Damianos was there, and wished he could find something romantic to say just to make him angry. That, and Laurent deserved it.

“Be…safe,” he managed to say at great length. His eyes did not open.

Damen glared at him over Laurent’s shoulder, then took Laurent’s hand the moment he was able. Fynn’s fever heat still radiated from Laurent’s hand.

“You should not have touched him,” Damen growled under his breath as they walked out. “His illness could spread to you."

* * *

“It could have,” Laurent confirmed nonchalantly as he walked alongside Damen, still holding his hand without regard for Damen’s mood. Laurent knew better than to have touched Fynn, but he had looked so terribly uncomfortable. With his illness being Laurent’s fault, Laurent found it time he took some sort of responsibility. Brushing Fynn’s hair back was the very least he could have done. It was not so offensive.

Besides, Laurent was a bit distracted by their current venture to really think much on Fynn and Damen. He could only chalk himself up as grateful that there had not been a scene between the two of them in that room. It would be the first time they had been civil in the same room together.

Laurent could not even enjoy that fact.

He and Damen had begun to make their way out of the palace, and Laurent led their path into the garden. The first few bits of the maze Damen knew quite well - the pagodas, the benches, and other little areas he had seen and been a part of pets taking and giving pleasure. Laurent did not think it needed introduction, nor any recall.

“Winter blossoms,” he did point out as they passed a row of bushes dappled with tiny white and blue flowers. “And those are berries of some sort,” he pointed out in another area. “Tart in the winter, sweet in the summer.”

It served as a happy distraction until they were far enough into the gardens for Damen to have any further recollections.

“Are you warm enough?” Laurent asked as they continued through the path of plants and flowers, bushes and art, cutting through a few quiet areas towards their destination.

* * *

Winter was still in full force. The moment they stepped outside, the air was sucked from Damen’s lungs. The wind had died down, but the sheer grasp of the coldness was all-reaching. His lungs clenched, his eyes closed, and he even squeezed Laurent’s hand on reflex. he didn’t understand how fever could spawn from such bitter weather.

Damen avoided the gardens of Arles for good reason. The sight of the snow-covered benches made his stomach roil, not at all subdued by the memory of staring into Laurent’s eyes as a pet sucked him off for all to see.

The winter blossoms were a much needed distraction. He plucked a berry from a bush and popped it into his mouth. It was indeed tart, but not blindingly so. Enough for him to thick of the way it might taste on Laurent’s lips and nothing else.

“Are you trying to make small talk?” Damen asked, twirling another berry in his fingers. Laurent didn’t appear as if he was at all concerned with his feeling warm. He certainly hadn’t while he was murmuring sweet nothings to Fynn.

He didn’t recognize this part of the garden. It loomed over them, the withered canopy of vines seemed to creep closer as they walked. the branches rattled against each other in the wind, and it suddenly felt much later in the day than it was. The thick cloud cover didn’t do anything to help the growing tension.

No wonder Laurent enjoyed this place.

“If it starts to snow heavily, we will go back,” Damen said. “I will not die this close to the palace if there is a sudden blizzard."

* * *

“Have we ever had small talk?” Laurent asked, for Damen knew damn well Laurent did not speak idly. Even in their most private moments, Laurent thought about his words. It was why he’d needed wine to be more...personable, to share the secrets he had. Laurent did not make small talk.

And he was worried about Damen’s comfort...as well as he was worried about occupying Damen’s mind as they neared their destination.

It came into view not a moment later.

The groundskeeper had done his best to keep the snow from covering Auguste’s likeness, but there was only so much that could be done. Laurent took his hand from Damen’s and approached the statue, reaching up and clearing the snow from Auguste’s face and shoulders before taking a step back and regarding it quietly.

He supposed he had always thought to bring Damen here, but he had not considered how it would feel.

And it felt strange.

Laurent turned back to Damen, having left him a few steps behind, and...waited, uncertain of what to do.

* * *

Damen was ready to retort that they had never had a third man involved in their relationship either, but held his tongue. Fynn hasn’t done anything, and Laurent hardly seemed to notice what he was doing at the time. But the sight of Laurent caring so deeply for someone else made him jealous—and he knew that was wrong. He simply wished Laurent would show that softness to a man who didn’t want to fuck him.

So he kept his eyes averted to the hedges in the garden until Laurent let go of his hand and Damen turned to face a ghost.

For a moment Damen was back in Marlas, staring down at an exhausted prince who was watching his life pour from his wounds. Auguste has been pretty even in death, smirking at his fate until the final seconds when mortality took his crown away and a frightened boy slumped to the blood-soaked earth.

The statue was slightly smaller than the real Auguste had been, but not by much. Damen remembered the way Laurent had spoken to the small statue of his mother at the summer palace, but Damen wasn’t compelled to speak at all.

In fact, for several moments he considered abandoning Arles altogether. This regal, stately Auguste has asked for Fynn to marry his brother. Had apparently written a letter so eager for that match that Fynn felt it was best to return years later and take Laurent’s hand. This Auguste had been slain, and only Damen’s eyes had seen it all happen from the insertion of the blade to his final shudders.

This Auguste would want him dead.

Damen felt positively traitorous standing in that garden, making a mockery of a Veretian coat.

“I...” His heart felt too full, fit to burst at the seams with pain, regret, and deep guilt. He tore his eyes away from Auguste’s patient gaze. “It’s very well made,” he finally said, stupidly.

“He. He is very...yes.”

Great.

* * *

Laurent stood there quietly for a moment, unable to watch Damen process it. It felt like something he should have allowed Damen to do on his own, probably shouldn’t have been present for. But it was part of their past, and their future, so Laurent knew it was pertinent that Damen did come out here, that he did see...this.

And Damen had definitely seen it. Laurent swore he saw the colour drain from Damen’s face, saw him react in a way similarly to when Laurent had first knowingly locked eyes with the man who killed his brother. It was a lot to take in, a full rush from the past that was difficult to swallow.

“He was taller—“ Laurent started in hopes of breaking tension, but he stopped a moment later, as Damen very much knew that. He had seen Auguste after all, at the tallest Auguste would ever be, at the oldest he’d ever be.

Laurent cleared his throat, both of a cough and a tightness that threatened there.

He tried again.

“He looked more like my father. We did not share many features,” Laurent said. He let his eyes move back to Damen then, making sure he was handling this in a positive way.

It was unnerving. Laurent understood.

And he had his own guilt to sort through. Bringing Damen here did not feel as traitorous as Laurent thought it would, but he could definitely sense the unease in Damen, which he then empathised with and felt, and /then/ because of that, Laurent began to feel guilt, and it was all a little vicious.

He had to focus.

* * *

Damen had to remind himself that this was just a statue. The real August had long been buried and laid to rest, and Damen had admittedly forgotten many parts of his fight with the crown prince of Vere. Laurent had asked him about it only once before, and Damen didn’t want to repeat it.

Laurent had spoken to his mother’s statue. Damen hadn’t found it the least bit odd at the time, and had in fact been touched by the sentiment. Likely because he hadn’t known his mother, so her statue was all she ever was to him.

The thought of doing the same for August felt like a horrific injustice.

“You did. You shared some,” Damen said after a moment. Laurent carried the same regality, the same brightness, the same golden warmth when he smiled.

Laurent could have had that smile for the rest of his life, but instead Damen had killed his brother and doomed him to a crown.

“How can you ever forgive me?” Damen asked quietly. “You…you could be with Fynn, as he wanted you to be. You would never have to wonder. Instead you’ve…you’ve dashed any hope of that."

* * *

Laurent found himself staring more at the statue than at Damen, as if Auguste might offer some advice now that he was ‘meeting’ Damen properly. He thought maybe he’d have some epiphany about it all, some clarity, and that Damen might step forward as he had with the statue of Damen’s mother, but Damen didn’t seem as inclined.

To be fair, Laurent had not slain Damen’s mother.

It was nice to hear that Laurent shared some features with Auguste however....

But any warmth he felt at that fact was taken by Damen’s next words.

He turned to Damen, visibly offended, his golden brow set.

“I do not love Fynn,” Laurent protested of Damen’s little idea. “I do not desire to be with him, I’ve no /wonder/, Damianos.”

Speaking his full name in such close proximity to his brother’s likeness felt wrong, but Laurent did not shy away.

“My uncle killed my brother, my father. Had Auguste ever heard of what our uncle began, had been ever truly met you as you are, if he had the opportunity to /see/— “

Laurent had to stop, had to swallow down, had to clear his throat.

“This is not about Fynn, Damen,” Laurent said evenly. “This was supposed to be about us.”

* * *

Damen looked away at the sight of Laurent’s offense. He hadn’t meant to offend him, but what did that matter? He had already committed the ultimate offense. Auguste was dead and it was his fault. The Regent might have been horrible, but Damen’s blade had killed him.

But he could not stand to see Laurent so upset. He crossed to him, gently lifted his hands to frame Laurent’s face.

“Okay,” he said, thumbing Laurent’s cheeks. “In that case…perhaps I should have brought him a gift.” That seemed like it would have been the proper thing to do.

“Could we go to the markets before they close for the night? You could tell me what he might like.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do, but continuing a conversation here seemed like it would only start an argument.

“Will you be warm enough?"

* * *

Standing under his brother’s statue, Laurent was positively dwarfed, and if anything could make the regal and calm expression etched into Auguste’s likeness look intimidating, it was the younger brother under it, hurt. It would not be ludicrous to believe Auguste’s very life force might spill into the statue just to protect Laurent, and had Damen seen how close they were when Auguste was alive, he might have been wise enough to fear it.

Instead, he drew closer, touched Laurent and held his face, soothed over any hurt that might need avenging. Laurent lifted his hands to hold Damen’s, stared up at him, eyes visibly sad. He’d not wanted to fight here.

“My happiness would have been gift enough,” Laurent murmured, but the idea of traversing the markets and then returning here, trying this again, sounded quite appealing.

Much more so than staying here to fight.

“I will be warm,” Laurent digressed, kissing Damen’s palm before letting his hand drop, Damen's still held within it.

“Come. We will find something.”

* * *

Damen has never been outside the palace at dark, not since his escape. He imagined in the summer they were full of life and typical Veretian debauchery, but in winter they were simply beautiful. Candles hung at each stall, draped with holly branches or winding winter vines. Each flame was encased in crystal or glass and illuminated the wares of each shop.

He gently pulled his hand from Laurent’s when a crown of drunks stumbled by, and moved himself between Laurent and the rowdy men before slipping his hand around Laurent’s waist.

People began to recognize them, and whispered excitedly at stalls and in the frozen alleyways. Damen smelled cooking meat kebabs—a food traditional to Vask—and his mouth watered for one.

“What would he like?” Damen asked as he eyed a jeweler with a more permanent shopfront—and one well protected with guards. “A ring? Or was he the type for trinkets?”

He leaned over to press his lips to Laurent’s temple, feeling for fever as he did so.

“Are you hungry?” He asked as they neared the kebab seller. “Those look quite delicious.”

* * *

Laurent didn’t do this sort of thing much anymore. He could not recall the last time he had been to the market, especially so under-guarded - though he supposed Damen counter as a full guard with his strength and passion to protect Laurent. Even so, Laurent drew up his hood for the warmth, especially as the wind pushed its way through buildings and stalls.

He walked close to Damen, his arm wrapped around his own middle to hold Damen’s hand at his waist as they moved, not at all impeded by the position.

No longer under Auguste’s gaze, with the intention of returning without seeing Fynn first put Laurent at a certain ease he needed for this. He gave his attention to Damen, wanting to help him to feel /right/ about visit Auguste again.

Unfortunately, Laurent had very little to offer by way of what Auguste might like.

Auguste had never been one for gifts. He received them and gave them in abundance, but so few of his interests lay in material goods. He had always been a man of adventure, of sentiment, of jokes and of selflessness. Auguste had been so well-liked. As Damen was.

Laurent stopped his searching about when Damen pointed out the kebabs, nodding without hesitation.

“Fetch me one,” he told Damen with a soft smile, catching the tail end of a passerby’s conversation - their shocked little tone as they recognised the couple walking to the kebab seller.

“They still wear those cuffs,” one whispered in hushed Veretian. “I saw it. Under the Akielon’s sleeve.”

Laurent paid it no mind, just kept his eyes forward even as he felt so many at his back.

* * *

Damen happily purchased kebabs for them both, and did his best to thank the shopkeeper in Vaskian, but she giggled in a way that indicated he had failed. He hid his coin purse discretely once he had handed off Laurent’s kebab, and kept his arm around him as they began to walk again.

He hummed with joy as the juices of the meat ran down his chin—Vask made excellent meats. Cattle raised on summer mountains tasted amazingly different than the supple cattle of Akielon fields.

“What if we gave him our sticks?” Damen asked after swallowing another mouthful of meat. “A symbol of our time together that we spent thinking of him.” If Auguste was not a man for treasures, sentiment might be best.

“And what about you?” Damen asked, giving Laurent a small squeeze. “If I am to court you properly, perhaps we should look at the bookseller and find something you like.”

* * *

The gift idea was surprisingly simple, and to anyone else may look like a defamation of the site, but Laurent instantly liked the idea. It only mattered that he knew it was a gift, and the intention would be there.

Auguste also would have loved the creativity of it.

Laurent had a very clear image of Auguste clapping Damen in the back, thinking him a clever brute.

“I like that,” Laurent agreed after swallowing his own piece of kebab. “And I think he would as well.” It was better than the absolute nothing Laurent could think of. “And I think he would like it as well.”

Laurent grinned, already feeling better about this.

And the promise of a book?

Things were looking up.

Laurent was not in need of any more books, but if nothing else, it would be a good look for those that saw him and Damen together, outside of the palace, not so secretive or as busy as kings should be.

“I suppose—“ Laurent started, but then he looked up at Damen and had to stop and reach out, wiped the juices from his chin and for only a moment, Laurent have visible strain at holding back a joke, only to leave his shoulders shaking with laughter as he let it go, shook his head, and focused back on their walk.

“Bookkeeper is this way,” he said through his laughter.

* * *

Damen smiled when Laurent helped him with the juice, and it grew wider when Laurent started to laugh. He took another bite of kebab and followed, thoroughly pleased with himself for giving Laurent such delight in some way.

They moved a bit further from the palace until they reached a small stall on a raised wooden platform that kept the snow and muck from damaging the books within. The bookkeeper was an old woman with white hair and a stern expression. She watched them carefully as they entered and Damen politely took Laurent’s kebab from him so he could look at books without dripping meat juice on them.

“What kind of book do you want?” Damen asked. “A story? Or something boring like A History of Snow?”

He thought it was pretty clever. Books didn’t interest him much. he had been forced to read them as a child—books on war, battle, government, and history. He was thankful for the knowledge, but now he would rather learn from Laurent. Or distract Laurent /from/ learning.

* * *

Laurent used to visit this book stall quite often as a child - with Auguste, with his mother, with Fynn. Auguste frequently picked books from here to bring back to Laurent - his stories of fiction, stories outside what their father required them to read. Laurent had read many tales from across the lands of different creatures, different myths, of wars that never happened and of adventures that might have—

But not since he was a child.

His books turned to those more resourceful, more instructional as he aged, as he moulded himself into a man. War, strategy, etiquette, histories; Laurent read them all in abundance. He’d inherited all of Auguste’s books after his death, and Laurent knew just which ones his brother had never opened, remembered nearly cracking them spines of the bound books when they were opened for the first time.

“I’d like something Akielon. In the language.” Laurent decided, fingers gliding through the air, not willing to dirty any covers, touch any spines. “Stories. From your people.” He wanted to know more about Akielon folklore, the tales children learned growing up. Laurent had read nothing but history books about Akielos, and even then, they were translated into Veretian. He wanted a story straight from the source. His Akielon was much better now.

He did not doubt the bookkeeper would have /something/ of the sort, especially with all their new residents, with the promise of what the future would be.

“Fetch me a story you know,” Laurent said, eyes on Damen. “I do not care how young you think it.”

* * *

Damen was rather flattered that Laurent wanted to read something of Akielos, but he also wasn’t sure Akielon stories would be ones he wanted to read at a time like this.

“Most of our stories for children are performed,” Damen explained. He walked through the shelves, looking through the books with much less care than Laurent. It seemed the shop owner was trying to adapt to an influx of Akielons in the city.

He found a few of the classics—tales of old gods, kings, and heroes. He pulled one from the shelf. It was old and worn, bleached from sun. It had to have come from Akielos.

“Akielos loves tragedy,” Damen murmured, handing over the book. “This one is about a god who is pursued by goddess but rejects her in favor or another.” He chuckled. “Do not think I have picked it because of our situation. All of our stories are similar."

* * *

“Would that make me the god?” Laurent joked dryly, looking over the tome handed to him. It smelled of Akielos in its own way, yet untainted by the perfumes of Vere, and the wear gave it character. “And I do think you just spoiled the ending for me.”

But Laurent took it in his arms all the same, a little smile on his lips, pleased he would be able to add it to his collections.

As he walked about the shop, he flipped through the pages, noting the Akielon text. Laurent, over time with Damen, had learned well enough to speak Akielon, but reading it was still a different matter.

“This will be good practice,” Laurent told Damen. “For reading your language. I am still not yet skilled in that task.“

And though the story was not theirs, perhaps he could learn some valuable phrases for their current situation in the book.

* * *

Damen smiled. “Read it and see if you are surprised. The ending may be different than you expect.” He kept behind Laurent as he sifted through the pages, looking out for any sharp objects that might catch his head if he wasn’t paying attention.

“The written language in our stories is a bit…dramatic,” Damen said with a chuckle. “But you may enjoy that.” he pressed a hand to Laurent’s back, guiding him toward the shopkeeper. If she knew who they were, she didn’t show it, though her gaze lingered on Laurent for some time.

Damen paid for the book, and made sure to add a bit extra for a cloth sack to carry it in along with their kebab sticks. Mostly just for the kebab sticks, as he doubted Laurent would let go of his prize anytime soon.

“You've grown,” the woman finally said in a worn voice. She smiled—an action that was as striking to Damen as Laurent’s smiles were to Veretians. “But it is good you still find joy in books.” She looked to Damen then, regarding him curiously. “And someone who supports you in doing so."

* * *

Laurent /had/ grown.

He’d not snuck out to the shops in years after all, so this shopkeeper had probably last seen him as a boy of thirteen at the oldest. With Auguste gone, Laurent had lost any support he’d had for reading, for his interest in literature over warfare and strategising. He’d not been able to justify a trip here to his uncle, so any book he wanted was purchased for him and brought to his chambers. Even as a princeling, he’d kept up the practice, though his books had finally switched to subjects more fitting for his life as a leader - especially when he had such an intense focus on finding a way to kill the man who currently had his hand placed so gently and surely on Laurent’s back.

Laurent offered the woman a smile in return, the book held to his chest as if to protect it from the cold.

“As has your shop,” Laurent responded to the shopkeeper, motioning about the walls stacked with books from all over. She had added a stall since Laurent was younger, probably recently by the looks of it. Two kingdoms meant more customers after all, and more customers meant more stock was needed. Laurent had never really considered the smaller effects of their union like that.

When Damen was mentioned, Laurent turned to him, eyes bright. It was so rare Damen was complimented by Veretians in a way that was not about his sexual prowess or his body.

“He is quite supportive,” Laurent agreed, “and as this will be my first book in Akielon, I’m sure he will be quite supportive in /helping/ me read it.”

* * *

Damen smiled back at Laurent, momentarily overtaken by the light in his eyes. He looked so…happy. So at peace. The sight of it made Damen want to scoop him up and take him back to bed, where Laurent could read while Damen busied himself kissing every inch of Laurent’s pale skin.

He hadn’t thought that supporting Laurent’s book reading would earn him any awards, but it seemed it had. “I will do my best,” Damen assured her. “Thank you.”

“Come back soon,” the woman said.

Damen put their kebab sticks into the cloth bag and then wrapped his arms around Laurent’s waist from behind, waddling after him as they left the store. The wind clawed at them the moment they cleared the stall, prompting Damen to hug him tighter still.

“We should give our gifts and return home,” Damen urged. “Before you fall ill again.” People were staring now, but Damen didn’t care. He wanted them all to see that he loved Laurent with all he had.

“Come,” Damen said with a kiss to Laurent’s temple. He gave him a little squeeze before releasing his hold and guiding Laurent back toward the gardens.

* * *

Laurent could not help but laugh at Damen as he waddled out the door, too tall to properly hold Laurent and walk normally. The laugh alone got them a few stares, but with all the layers, only one or two of them were those of recognition. But Damen and Laurent were in their own world, moving through quickly, so no one made the move to prostrate themselves, no one interrupted their walk.

Book still in his arms, Laurent made his way back into the gardens, leading Damen through oath after path. It was getting colder by the moment, Laurent’s vow to not be out long becoming more and more of a lie as the evening went on. But he didn’t mind, bundled tight in his cloak, stealing Damen’s warmth as they finally settled back in front of Auguste.

Laurent was pressed up against Damen, suddenly affectionate in a way he’d not been when they first had come here. A lot of the trepidation was gone, though Laurent still found himself quite unsettled if he thought about the implications of this visit. But he just swallowed it down, looked up to Damen expectantly.

Auguste had been Laurent’s support. He’d been the one to show Laurent love and understanding, made him into a better man while he still could - and Laurent had, admittedly, let him down after losing his brother.

He held his book a little tighter in his one arm, and where his smile faded and something visibly shifted in Laurent, he didn’t back down or away from Damen.

Laurent had lost his everything once. He wouldn’t do it again.

“He would have liked you,” Laurent murmured quietly after a moment of letting it all settle. “If he met you like this. He would have.”

* * *

Things were much better this time around. Damen didn’t feel so intimidated in approaching Auguste, not with Laurent so happy. He gazed at the statue again, this time as an excited lover to the King of Vere. A Vere that Auguste would have loved to rule, but couldn’t. A Vere that Laurent had brought about, and soon would be better than ever before.

He didn’t respond right away. Laurent’s smile had faded and Damen could see the pain returning to him. He felt the same pain for Kastor—even now, he was unable to fully realize his brother had tried to kill him…twice.

It didn’t feel so strange to address Auguste now. Damen gave Laurent a sweet kiss, rubbing his back before he looked up at Auguste again.

“I could see how you might hate me,” Damen began, speaking into the stillness of the winter night. “But I hope you have seen how much I care for your brother, and how I will continue to love and support him until I am no longer able.”

He looked down at Laurent, kissing his forehead before he moved over to the statue and placed the bag at Auguste’s feet.

“I wish things had been different,” Damen said quietly. “That I could have known you instead of ending your life.” Auguste’s face remained unchanged above him, but Damen nodded anyway. “I will do what is best for him.”

He opened his mouth to say more, but snow began to fall—Auguste’s silent answer. Damen smiled, then turned on his heel and crossed to Laurent to sweep him up into a kiss.

“I love you,” Damen murmured. “Now it’s time to go inside."

* * *

Laurent rested his head against Damen after the first kiss, watching the statue as if he might receive some sort of sign as his betrothed finally addressed Auguste, the man he had slain so many years ago. Laurent had no doubts that Auguste would have forgiven Damen, liked him in the proper realm of courting, and would have supported this union and his brother’s decision in marrying Damen, but the discomfort was still there.

The word ‘traitor’ wormed its way into Laurent’s mind in the silence before Damen spoke, and it was overwhelming. It physically turned Laurent’s stomach, and when he swallowed, it was to clear the nausea.

But it was not his own thought. It was not a projection of Auguste’s either. It was residual from the years of doubt and belittlement he had suffered under his uncle, and Laurent refused to allow it to affect him now. He’d almost been beheaded for what he had with Damen, and he stood by it just as strongly now—

Even when the jury was the man he looked up to more than anyone else in this world.

Laurent held Damen a little tighter as Damen finally spoke, grounding himself right here, in this garden, with /this/ man, before his brother.

Damen’s promise was everything Auguste would have wanted to hear, everything he would have held Damen to. Laurent had never heard such a promise, especially, not made about himself. It was overwhelming, his heavy heart trying to flutter, but unable to with all the mixed feelings inside. Laurent had not prepared himself for how he would feel about this, and he’d begun to feel stifled, trapped, anxious, suddenly like he was about to burst—

And then the first snowflake hit his nose.

Then another at his cheek.

And a third on his forehead when he looked up.

Laurent settled.

It was the order his mother used to kiss him when she put him to bed - the order of kisses Auguste would then mockingly repeat in playful ‘mwah’s that would always make Laurent laugh.

Laurent opened his arms to Damen, overwhelmed, but clearly on the better side of things now.

“I love you too,” he said to Damen, thumbing at his cheek before reaching up to kiss Damen’s nose, his cheek, his forehead, all in rapid succession, with a small smile.


	15. Part I: The (16.8.20)

Damen appreciated each kiss and held Laurent for a moment longer as the snow began to fall. They had been outside for far too long, but Damen felt that he had kept Laurent warm enough during. It was all worth it to see the look on his face then, so pleased. Damen closed the distance between them for a real kiss—a long and passionate one that they hadn’t been able to share outside of the bedchamber in some time.

He continued with a few more kisses until the snow began to dampen his hair, then took Laurent’s hand and wandered back to the warmth of the palace.

Pallas and Lazar were relieved to see them when they came back inside, likely on the verge of calling for a search party thanks to them being away much longer than they should have been.

“We should celebrate,” Damen offered. “What do you think about a nice dinner? We can have a table brought to our chambers. You could have…juice? Or can I convince you to share a glass of wine with me?"

* * *

Laurent stayed close to Damen, even as they walked back into the palace, his hand intertwined with Damen’s, his body all but full pressed against him. Laurent was surprisingly calm for someone who had just had a full intimate moment with his brother’s killer right in front of what he used as a substitute for his brother in this world, but everything felt /right/, very much in a way that he supposed it had never had the chance to.

He almost felt guilty stepping into the warmth and letting the snow that touched his face melt, but once they were inside, he had both himself and Damen by the fire. He started at Damen’s laces, helping to relieve him of the wet clothes, while Laurent remained in his for the time being.

He’d walked right past Fynn’s room without a second thought.

“I think I will stay with my juice for the evening,” Laurent chuckled, opening Damen’s unlaced jacket. “I’ve yet to come across a time where wine has given me anything but misfortune. And a headache.”

But the dinner idea sounded quite nice.

Laurent kissed Damen’s cheek again as he freed him from the jacket, this time reaching up to rustle his wet curls.

* * *

Damen had thought he would only be this happy on their wedding day. They had not felt this close in some time, even at the inn. The Inn had been the recoupling they both needed at the time, and while it had been intimate, it was mostly exertion and fun. This evening had been the best possible scenario to add to their last.

He shrugged off his coat, cloak and boots once Laurent had unlaced them and he was thankful for the warmth from the fire once his wet clothes were set aside. He called for a servant and explained what they required for dinner, then set about unlacing Laurent’s clothing to free him of it.

“My king,” Damen purred, pulling Laurent into his lap once he was finished. He rested their foreheads together, just taking a few moments to bask in the warmth and safety of their bedchamber. Damen would have to return to the guest quarters at some point, but not tonight.

“Tomorrow we will have to be proper kings,” he murmured, rather surprised at how the day had gotten away from them. “If you are feeling well, we should inspect the border walls and talk of our wedding plans. We must write to Charls again, I fear.”

But again, all of that was for tomorrow.

He brought Laurent’s palm to his lips and began to kiss his knuckles, his fingers.

“Is there anything about me you want to know?” Damen asked. “I was thinking about it in the gardens. That was a part of you I had never seen. Perhaps there is something of me you haven’t seen."

* * *

Tomorrow. Laurent had not dreaded a day so strongly in some time. There was always something looking over them, mainly due to their positions of royalty, and it made it seem like every moment was fleeting, like nothing could stay. Tomorrow could bring about any form of uneasiness, could bring any new argument, could bring storm or illness, even an uprising. Could they not just have this? Forever?

“I will want to discuss Marlas,” Laurent added to the list as he climbed into Damen’s lap, for even though he did not want it to come, tomorrow could be a day of great progress. “/After/ we write Charls. I fear if we do not give him as much a warning as we can, he may destroy himself over our wedding attire.”

Tomorrow.

Laurent sat there quietly, eyes closed, completely comfortable with his forehead resting against Damen’s.

“Was it so new?” He asked with a hint of a chuckle, laughing at his own expense. It made it easier to accept how he had reacted back there, like some emotional child. He was not proud of it, and more than happy to move on from it.

“There are things I want to know,” Laurent assured Damen a moment later. “There are /many/ things I would like to know, but this is not the time for those questions.” None that he could think of off the top of his head.

Laurent wanted to know if Damen harboured any ill will towards him for killing Kastor. Whenever Auguste was brought up, Laurent could not escape the passing thought of how Damen might feel about him, what he’d done. Damen had still loved his brother until the end. Had Laurent not been there, he knew he would have lost Damen. Damen never would have killed Kastor, and Laurent would have lost him. He’d done what he’d had to. As Damen had.

But he did not want to ruin this now. He did not want to make Damen think of that.

* * *

As Laurent shared the quiet warmth with him, Damen thought of Chastillion, back when he had agreed to help Laurent but had fully intended to return to Akielos without him the moment he could. Yet even then he had waited hours for Laurent to return to his chamber in the keep, the one decorated with the Regent’s colors. He wondered how Laurent had been able to stand the room now that he knew what the Regent had done to him.

Damen remembered how the intimacy had been so real between them then, but so much smaller. Just a brush of Laurent’s fingers on his own, the gentle press against him when Laurent had dared him to plunge a knife into his ribs.

Now he had Laurent in his lap and could slip his hand under the back of Laurent’s shirt without hesitation to run his fingers over the planes of his back, the muscle there.

“I disagree,” Damen said quietly. “It is always time for such questions. You need not shy away from anything with me.”

He pressed a loving kiss to Laurent’s mouth, wishing there was some way he could keep him even closer, to show him just how much he was loved.

“I feel better having….having spoken to him,” Damen confessed. “It is still strange to me because of what I did, but I am glad I was able to speak to him about you."

* * *

Speaking to Auguste was one thing. His death had been unavoidable, as Laurent had come to realise in his time with Damen. He had never considered the life which took his brother’s until he’d properly met Damen - not as a slave, but as the man he became despite his imprisonment.  
Laurent had been young, unable to fully accept that there had been no middle ground - it had been one life or the other. Auguste’s death was no Damen’s /fault/.

Kastor’s death however was a little different. Laurent had inserted his way into that fight. It was to protect Damen, yes, to do that which Damen would not do, and Laurent could argue it was a necessity, but he was sure Damen still believed it could have been talked out. He was so naive sometimes.

“You have never been cross with me,” Laurent started, “about Kastor’s death.” Laurent sat back in Damen’s lap, looking at him from a proper vantage. “You have never said anything about it  
to me really. And I know you mourn him, that you still love him, yet you treat me with no disdain for it.”

Laurent had hated Damen so much for doing just as he had to Kastor, that Laurent simply could not understand how Damen might not hate him even a little bit. If he needed to, Laurent could justify the action, could make Damen understand if he did not, but...he’d not asked Laurent to.

So the question that plagued Laurent about all of that was:

“Why?”

* * *

It was true that Damen still mourned his brother. He thought of Kastor often, about what he might do in any given situation, even how he might have liked Laurent. But his face was already faded from Damen’s memory—all that remained was a smile, the musculature of his arm as he threw a spear in the okton, the dip of his heels in the stirrup.

In Damen’s mind, Kastor could have been saved, but he had also violated the rules of engagement. By stabbing him, Kastor had made himself a threat, one that needed to be responded to with force. Laurent has thankfully been there to do it. And Damen made peace with the fact that he would have suffered to see his brother in prison for the rest of his life.

“I know the rules of combat,” Damen answered. “You were right in engaging him. He made his choice to harm me, you had to defend me because I was wounded. That is the rules, and Kastor knew them too.”

He still didn’t believe Kastor had truly wanted to kill him, he had just been frightened, overcome with his own wrongdoing. The way children lashed out when caught in a lie.

“I miss him,” Damen admitted. “Each day. But Cosmas still lives, and he looks like Kastor. Swings a sword the same way. So I still have some piece of him, and that is enough.”

More importantly, he had Laurent. He had a life, a crown, and love.

“I never would have been able to live had he harmed you in retaliation,” Damen murmured. “And he would have tried.”

* * *

Laurent felt kind remorse for what he’d done to Kastor, which might be why he felt so strange about this conversation. Hearing Damen still have those ties to a monstrous man did not resonate with Laurent. Kastor had been so unlike Damen, so weak, so easily manipulated by Laurent’s uncle, and because of that, Laurent just saw him as an extension. There was no grey area that Laurent categorised such people in.

But he did listen, silently, thumbed at Damen’s wrist as he spoke and recollected, for he knew at least the pain of losing a brother at its core.

“I used childish tricks as he did in a fight with you,” Laurent reminded Damen, lightly. “You should have seen that knife coming.”

Damen still had the scar - amidst so many others.

“If you are lucky, Cosmas will learn to swing a sword like a better man.”

It was a callous thing to say, but Laurent still had work to do yet on his mannerisms in all of this.

“But he never would have harmed me,” Laurent reassured Damen quietly. “I had trained for years to fight you, and your sword work was similar. He was, admittedly, a smaller target, but not by much. You had already saved me from the man that meant me harm, the man who had been working at it for years. I wouldn't fall so easily to a fake Akielon king.”

He truly was trying to be reassuring.

* * *

Damen still didn’t like to hear Laurent speak ill of Kastor. Laurent hadn’t known him. Where Laurent saw a cowardly king, Damen saw a man who had lost everything, and what it had done to him. Perhaps Kastor had considered it kill-or-be-killed, that Damen would take the throne and kill his dear brother. In reality, Damen would have made him his closest advisor. And Kyros of Ios. Instead Kastor was dead, and his son was being raised without a father.

“Kastor was better with a sword than I was,” Damen corrected. “He didn’t expect a fight. I’m not sure how it would have gone if he had. He had years on me, and many more than you.”

Laurent didn’t get to say Kastor was an easy kill. Kastor was stronger than that.

“I wish you could have known him as I did,” Damen murmured. “You would have found him entertaining—he makes Nikandros look welcoming and kind.”

Damen smiled to himself, his gaze lost in memories. Memories of Kastor pulling him up from the sand, leading him into tents full of pleasure slaves and drowning in them.

“Who knows, perhaps Cosmas would have become our true heir, as you are intent on leaving us without one.”

He didn’t say it accusingly, it was just fact. Laurent didn’t want children, but Damen did. He wanted a child to raise, a son to form into a king.

Someday, perhaps.

* * *

Laurent had not expected his age or lack of interest in an heir in this conversation, yet here they were, right back on it. It didn’t seem pertinent to the conversation, didn’t seem at all necessary to bring up, but he supposed he had not sounded so kind in his own words.

“You are free to have an heir,” Laurent said, just as plainly as Damen had spoken. It was not an argument, just a statement of fact. “Unless something changes drastically in our countries‘ understanding of bastards beforehand, it will not be respected as a true heir in Vere. I suspect it would be similar in Akielos, with Kastor’s circumstances of birth and all.”

Laurent had no interest in fucking a woman, let alone continuing his bloodline. Auguste had been the last good man of their line, and Laurent truly believed their strength died with him. No good would come out of his line. It was that simple.

Damen could sire an heir, yes, and perhaps Laurent might support that with the help of approved nurses and teachers, but even that would have to be done in the future, once Damen was of Vere as well as Akielos, and they could work towards something of a good life for the child.

“I do not understand why you focus so heavily on that now,” Laurent said honestly. “We have so many other matters to focus our efforts on, and it is always the heir with you.”

Laurent tried not to sound annoyed.

* * *

Damen sighed. He didn’t want to have an heir in his own, he wanted a child they would both raise and cherish. Vere would never accept a child that even Laurent did not accept. He might well have several children in Vask already, and perhaps others in Akielos though he was not aware of any. He wanted a child with Laurent.

“I’m not focusing on it,” Damen said. “But I will remind you that if I died today, Nikandros would be king until /Cosmas/ ascended.”

Kastor’s legacy was not gone until they had an heir of their own, but Laurent didn’t seem to understand that.

“I want a child with you,” Damen admitted. “It doesn’t have to be an heir.”

He kissed Laurent’s cheek.

“Is a child still a bastard if the queen becomes pregnant before she is wed?” Damen asked, trying to change the subject. “Vere is so cruel to women. Kastor’s right to the throne was valid until me, I will not have you make an insult out of it. My father loved Hypermenstra, they were more of a match. My mother was chosen because of her standing. He loved her too.”

* * *

“Insult?” Laurent started with just a prickle of annoyance. He did not care of the legitimacy of Kastor’s rule, but he knew how people saw it. “I was never meant to be the king of Vere - I was a spare heir. Do you think /I/ care of Kastor’s validity? I am speaking of /your/ people, Damen, telling you what /they/ think.”

Damen had now insulted Laurent thrice in the conversation, brought /him/ into discussions meant to be more general, and Laurent was not enjoying himself.

It did not help that Damen was once again on the /child/ track.

A kiss on the cheek could only do so much.

“How about this?” Laurent asked, managing to keep composure, not sounding /too/ combative just yet. “After the wedding, should you like, you can travel into the Vaskian mountains, apprentice under a wet nurse, and once /you’ve/ learned to carry and birth a child, we will have one.”

There was no question that, even if they did agree on a child, it would need to be /one/ of theirs, and that would spark controversy with the other kingdom whether they liked it or not. Of course, should Laurent have wanted an heir, it would be easy enough to work around and through, but he simply did not have the passion.

Laurent had no /right/ to have a child.

“And we are not cruel to women here,” Laurent defended, sour. Very little had been done properly in Vere, but Laurent would attest to that. The pet system had been put in place to protect women after all, and /many/ of them had benefit from it as well. “A country with slaves cannot speak to the cruelty of one without, Damianos.”

* * *

It always came to fighting. Damen was struggling to maintain a hold on the joy that had brought them here. Kastor was his brother, and all in Akielos had accepted him as heir until Damen had taken the throne. Even when Kastor took the crown in enslaving him, all but Jokaste had thought Damen had been killed and that the crown was rightfully his.

He did laugh at becoming a wet nurse, because the thought of him doing that would probably be an absolute delight to the Vaskian women.

“You would have to bed me,” he teased. “They would have such fun spying.”

He decided to ignore the comment about slaves. Damen had been admittedly ignorant to slavery’s horrors before, but he had taken ownership of that wrong, had started to reverse it and let all of his people be free.

They were thankfully interrupted by dinners arrival. Servants carried in an elaborate but small dining table, then placed ornate settings and small sculptures for decoration on it. Food was brought on silver platters—grouse, with the same winter berries Laurent had pointed out. Pickled vegetables and sweet eats were also set out, and the rare delicacy of canned peaches. And Damen’s wine.

Once the food was served, Damen pulled out the chair for Laurent.

“We won’t speak of heirs or women or any kingdom’s faults. We are here for a nice dinner because I love and support you.”

He smiled, hoping it wasn’t as weak as it felt.

“Please let me?”

* * *

Laurent could allow it.

“I did say it was not the time for such discussions,” Laurent told Damen as he climbed from his lap and moved towards the table. He let himself have a joking tone as he spoke, wanting just as much as Damen to /not/ argue right now.

So he sat quietly, let Damen push in his chair as he let himself cool down from their little argument. The weight of the crown weighed heavily on both of them, and the past they shared between them was no lighter.

Laurent took his juice, sipped it as Damen settled into his seat across the table. He looked as strained as Laurent in that moment, both their bright faces from their visit to the market, to Auguste, already so drained.

Perhaps a union of two kings had not happened in their history for reason.

“I do love you,” Laurent told Damen, wanting that made clear despite their daily issues nowadays. “I truly do.”

* * *

Hearing Laurent talk about loving him so openly always made Damen start. He just wasn’t used to hearing such loving statements from him. Laurent was a man of action, words held him too accountable, too open.

“Thank you,” Damen said quietly, looking down at his plate. “You know I love you too. More than I can possibly express.”

He sighed, scrubbing his face with a hand. “We have to learn to stop this fighting. We know we can unite against any foe, but why is it so hard to be united without one?”

He didn’t ask to be answered though, and began to eat his meal. The grouse was cooked and seasoned to perfection—

“They’ve used olive oil,” Damen said joyfully. It tasted of home. He missed Ios like a lung. The cold and snow did nothing useful for his temper.

“Can you taste it?”

* * *

Their very intertwined existence was based in turmoil, Laurent thought in response to Damen’s question. It was what they knew, what was natural to them together. Laurent supposed things between them might never fully settle, even with the love they shared. Sometimes, that was just the course of nature.

But the question was merely a musing, and Laurent felt no need to respond to it.

Besides, Damen’s next question seemed less like something they could fight about.

In response to the question, Laurent went in for the grouse and, after a bite, he wrinkled his brow in thought.

“It’s earthy,” he murmured, wiping at the corners of his mouth as the aftertaste of the oil settled. He had not tasted it since he’d last been in Ios, and even then, things had been strange. Many cooks did not go through the hassle of cooking him a fine meal while Damen recovered, still so uncertain of how to handle a Veretian prince amongst them. In Sicyan, he had mostly consumed fruits, fish. Olive oil was still new to Laurent, strange to his palette.

“What were the leaves?” Laurent asked in Akielon, thinking this as good a time as any to practice, especially if that terribly worded phrase said anything. “The leaves with the—“ Laurent switched to Veretian to say, “the mixture of the rice and the beef...” It was a dish he had quite enjoyed when Damen had been well enough to eat again after his recovery in Ios.

* * *

Ios would have fixed everything, Damen thought. The warm sand at the beaches, the pink of Laurent’s skin in the sun. Cold perpetuated a bad attitude in him, but the heat of home helped him flourish. Even on the hottest days he was only a little irritable, and he missed it.

“Grape leaves,” Damen said, and he could already taste them. The grouse was very well cooked, but now he wanted the feasts of home. He longed for lamb, olive oil, nectarines and peaches that weren’t soggy from canning.

His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine chalice, and he found his smile fading. Home. Home would make all of this easier. He hadn’t missed home this much since his last time in Arles, when he had been enslaved here.

So he drank his wine, but at least wine tasted pretty much the same.

“I wish we could live in Ios,” Damen murmured. “But Marlas will be good. Closer.”

* * *

“Grape leaves,” Laurent repeated in Akielon. They had been strange, but Laurent had enjoyed them. He had not eaten much in his time in Ios, truly had not been there for long. Once Damen had recovered, Laurent had to begin the journey back to Vere, had to pick up the pieces of wreckage his uncle had left behind.

And where he enjoyed what he had seen of Ios, he did not know that he wanted to /live/ there. Even though Laurent had his issues with Vere, it was his home. It was familiar. Veretian culture would never fully penetrate Akielon, and Laurent feared moving into Ios might take away the magic he'd felt there. The warmth, the colours, the sea, the salt air.

Even Marlas would be strange. A great amount of work still needed to be done there. It was still, for the most part, gutted from when Akielos had taken it. It had then stayed in their charge for so long, that Veretian culture has been choked out in its majority. Laurent thought it would be easy to nurture back into life there, but to start from nothing elsewhere would take time.

“Marlas still requires much attention,” Laurent continued in Akielon, testing out one of the peaches and finding it almost as sweet as it had been on the tree all those months ago. “We need to bring it out of the war without forgetting the war all together. The Veretian architecture has been destroyed,” he was not pointing fingers. “And it still sways heavily to the Akielon persuasion. And I believe there should be memorial there. For my brother and my father.”

It was a conversation he’d meant to save, but here they were.

* * *

Marlas wasn’t important to Damen beyond pride. There was guilt that came with that pride now, but he had been the hero of Akielos after defeating Vere’s crown prince. A memorial for Auguste was a given, but he doubted Akielos would approve of a memorial to Laurent’s father.

“Auguste, certainly,” Damen said, finishing his cuts of the grouse. “But I’m not sure Akielos would approve of your father memorialized there. Would Vere?”

Aleron had not treated Akielos fairly in the battlefield in the slightest, and had sent Auguste to die.

“My father and Auguste,” he countered. Both murdered by their families in some sense. “Akielos will not tolerate a memorial only to Veretians when it is currently our territory.”

He tasted a peach. Sweet but the texture wasn’t that of a fresh one. Nor did it smell like one.

“If you don’t agree, then we will discuss it tomorrow. I won’t fight again.”

* * *

Laurent wanted to argue - wanted to argue that his father had /also/ been slain in Marlas, albeit by his own people, and that the attack was pushed on him by the Regent. Laurent wanted to argue that Marlas should very much be in Veretian territory at this point. He wanted to argue that Marlas would be a capitol anew, and that many things would need to change and people would need to adjust to it—

“Then we will speak of it tomorrow,” Laurent replied, dangerously even, his attention on his food for a moment.

A memorial for King Theomedes was not out of the question, but he had not been killed in Marlas. His likeness should be in the Kingsmeet, where Veretian monarchs would never be allowed, but again, that was a conversation later.

Laurent tried not to let it affect his mood.

“Are we allowed to discuss my uncle’s boy, then?” Laurent asked, now picking at his food more than eating it.

* * *

“Tomorrow,” Damen agreed. He could see that Laurent wanted to argue, and knew that tomorrow would be a day full of arguments. The fact was that he was Akielon and Laurent was Veretian. They both thought different things about their kingdoms, and Marlas was a tipping point for both kings.

Laurent was lucky he was pretty. Very pretty.

“Korus,” Damen said, eating his vegetables. “What about him? I think he has been growing well, and slowly growing accustomed to Akielos.”

He nudged Laurent’s foot under the table, trying to keep him from snapping.

“You’re cross with me,” he said, putting down his fork. “You’re not eating. Should we go to bed? Or return to the fire?”

* * *

“I do not want him in Marlas,” Laurent replied simply, though he was grateful to hear Korus was assimilating. At his age, the culture shock had probably been quite overwhelming, but Laurent knew he would find his place there. As a boy of Akielos. Laurent did not want him near Vere, did not want the boy to have to see /him/. Even the letters Laurent wrote were left unsigned, any support he gave the boy, anonymous. It was in his best interest. That was all.

“He should stay in Ios until he is a man—“ Laurent raised his hand should Damen even try to debate, question, or otherwise comment on the decision. “And that is not up for debate. Even during the ceremony, I ask that he is kept in Ios.”

And that was all Laurent wanted to say on the dismissed matter of Marlas for now.

He lifted his head when he felt Damen’s foot touch his, and his immediate expression hinted at annoyance, but he did settle a moment after.

“I am cross with you,” Laurent confirmed, placing down his own fork. He didn’t offer much else than that, just levelled his gaze on Damen, unamused and unimpressed. “You seem unable to regard me both as your lover /and/ the King of Vere. We cannot just tumble into bed when these conversations are not to your liking, Damianos.”

* * *

Damen didn’t think Korus should have to stay in Akielos for his youth, but he understood where Laurent was coming from, and Korus wasn’t his charge. He wouldn’t argue about that—Korus was still impressionable and men in Vere had treated him poorly. It wasn’t safe for him to be among their company for any length of time.

As for Laurent’s response about his diffusion...

“We said we didn’t want to fight,” Damen said. “We are of two different kingdoms, uniting with our choice to marry and our love for each other. Not much else. And don’t look at me like that—like you do when you think I’m stupid.”

Laurent wasn’t thinking like a king of two kingdoms. They couldn’t force Vere on Akielos any more than they forced Akielos on Vere.

“You’ve never done this either, so don’t act as if I’m inferior somehow.”

So much for not arguing. Damen let out a sigh and stood.

“Should I see myself out, then? Would that make you feel like I’m not using sex as an escape?”

* * *

“It would still be an escape,” Laurent muttered, arms crossed now, staring at Damen from where he was still sat, managing not to look any more inferior despite the fact that he was physically looking /up/ at Damen. “Are you so incapable of facing me anymore?”

Laurent stood from the table, pulled the napkin from his lap and placed it atop his plate before moving back over to the fire.

“I have never thought you /stupid/, Damen,” Laurent went on, his back to his betrothed now, his eyes on the dancing flames in the hearth. “I have thought you reckless, naive, stubborn, and too kind, but I have never called you imbecilic.” He had called him much worse than that, of course, but that had been in their past. Laurent had thought nothing similar of Damen since...the Kingsmeet. And even then, he’d hardly thought it in a way that suggested hatred or even anger.

Damen had broken the rules of his country for Laurent then, faced the punishment of death, stares it down without fear...or thought.

“I used to be forced to send you away should I need a moment,” Laurent said then, quietly, but his voice was still stern. “Now, you so willingly leave me if only to escape discomfort. Why?”

* * *

The evening was turning out exactly how Damen hadn’t wanted it to. Laurent was angry, acting in a way that suggested he was somehow superior by not showing emotion—like Damen was the barbarian and he the intellectual aristocrat. It angered him to hear Laurent so nonchalant in disregarding him, even more so to hear himself not quite insulted but not complimented either.

“Because I was your /slave/ here,” Damen spat. “I was never allowed to make my own decisions, and punished when I did. If I left every time I was uncomfortable in Arles, I would never have come here in the first place. Arles will never be a source of joy for me.”

The weather, the foreboding walls and maze of hallways he had memorized only to escape from them, dragged about like a dog with nipple clamps, collars, and cuffs at Laurent’s behest.

“And perhaps it is the atmosphere, how everyone still holds you in the highest regard and me only as your companion, but you refuse to see the wrong in your actions. Going out into that storm, kissing Fynn, enacting a plot that embarrassed me upon my very arrival.”

His hands curled to fists at his sides. “You have your schemes and games that you still hide from me as if I were an untrustworthy slave or your bumbling attendant. I save you from embarrassment—I found a way to distract the whole city so your arrival would be hidden after the party, your illness concealed—and you return the favor with humiliation after already humiliating me at the party!”

Raising his voice seemed pointless too, because Laurent wouldn’t listen to any of it, he knew. He was still spoiled and single-minded.

“You are my only comfort here,” he admitted. “So when you turn on me, I have nothing. I can only retreat to myself. And I am tired of feeling like I need to brace myself for war each time I leave this room, and it is worse still to feel alone when I’m in it—or like the door is closing as it is now.”

* * *

Laurent did turn to face Damen when he finally decided to have this conversation with him, even if a turned back would have served him better. He weathered through what Damen had to say, even when he wanted to interrupt, insist he’d been talking about when Damen did have choice, when he wanted to assure Damen Ios would treat Laurent similarly when he arrived. Laurent’s face was unreadable, but his stance was not defensive. Though his arms were crossed, his palm were open, turned upwards to hold his elbows as opposed to clenched into fists as they would have been were he merely ready to attack again.

It was not at all what Laurent wanted to hear, but he had /wanted/ to talk more than he had wanted to just be pleased. He wanted to hear Damen, face him, show him that he /could/ if given the chance. Laurent would not run, he would not try to escape. He had no need to, and neither did Damen!

This time.

“Did I not show my gratitude for your help in that?” Laurent asked, and his tone suggested he genuinely believed he had. “Did I not apologise and admit my fault in that evening?”

“Your anger seems rooted in nothing I’ve done tonight, but everything I thought I had made right.” With that, Laurent uncrossed his arms, and though his fingers twitched /to/ be clenched into fists, he remained calm, loose.

“You are marrying the sworn enemy of your country, and I, mine. War is in our very being, Damen. It will not so easily be snuffed out. But it will be ignited if you do not just /talk to me/.” Laurent was wavering between anger and what almost be...a tone of pleading. He constricted it as he could, as It was unbecoming of him, his uncle would have likened it to a young boy whining, he knew, and he hated that. But his usual tone would not work here. He would seem cold, live up to that which all assumed him to be. “We cannot put aside conversation after conversation, you cannot just /run/ when things go wrong. You would not do it in a battlefield, so you cannot do it here.”

And now that Damen had stayed it all so clearly, Laurent could at least participate in the war Damen was faring against himself.

His tone turned more analytical as he worked through the problems that had finally been presented to him.

“Vere is my home, Damianos. I am a young king, and I do not have the support you have in your Kyroi. I cannot leave, cannot follow you off into Ios, or even Marlas until everything is right and ready for me to do so.” He crossed to Damen, but then passed him, moved towards their bed before he said, “But you can.“

Their union was unprecedented as it was. Perhaps, in its infancy, they should have been less like lovestruck teens and more like leaders, should have handled their own affairs before trying to handle them as well as a budding, difficultly founded relationship. Laurent could have navigated through this Kempt alliance in his own for his country, could have had the whole ruse finished by the time the letter reached Damen. He could have had his council dealt with, his changes to Marlas planned, his ideas presentable in a way that would not have been so distracted.

He could have figured out this companion situation better, found the mannerisms he lacked and...fixed it. All of it.

“I will discuss my wrongs with you, and we may fight, and I will do as I can to fix them, but I cannot right Vere in a day,” Laurent confessed, looking down at his hands for a moment before moving his gaze to Damen. “I thought myself on the right track of doing so, but clearly -“ he motioned to Damen and exhaled. “- I was wrong about that as well.”

“The door is open,” Laurent went on. “I will never close it on you, though I cannot promise it will always be safe or pleasant to enter. Should you want to exit, I will...do my best to make it more welcoming when you return.”

* * *

Guilt was quick to hit him, but Damen had to remind himself that Laurent had not been receptive to arguments before, and he certainly hadn’t treated his complaints this nicely. He took a breath, but decided that he would have to email calm if they were going to fix this. It wasn’t often that Laurent was so open with him, so he needed to nurture it.

Damen moved to Laurent, trying to find a way to express his emotion. The anger inside him had subsided, and Laurent was right.

“It wasn’t anything you did tonight,” he agreed in a gentler tone. “But even though you have made things right with me, the hurt hasn’t left when I think about it. This place...” he looked around the room. It was so Laurent, and they had built many memories here on his trip, but he couldn’t shake that Arles was a dark place for him. “You cannot understand the hopelessness I felt here. I know Arles was unkind to you in many ways but you always had some power here. I had none, and many days it still feels like I’m only your pet, only able to command on your behalf.”

Talking never seemed to help them, though. Talking led to yelling and anger and Laurent ignoring him.

He followed Laurent to their bed, but didn’t move to sit on it.

“You can hurt me more than anyone else. In fact, I would venture to say only you and Nikandros can truly hurt me now—so saying it may not be safe for me to enter your door? How can I be safe anywhere if my betrothed cannot even promise it?”

Damen felt as though his body was growing heavier the longer they spoke about this. He walked over to the small chest by Laurent’s things, and opened it. He’d noted it the first day they arrived here, and ever time he’d entered since.

It wasn’t Laurent’s fault that the contents hadn’t been removed. They’d both been too busy, far too taxed with duties and travel to bother with jewelry.

Damen carefully moved Auguste’s starburst aside to lift out the rod and chain Laurent had made him wear long ago. The thin collar was decoration, the fine chain easy to snap. The nipple clamps were also inside the box and Damen wondered if perhaps his piercings were just in place of them.

It made him ill to hold the rod in his hands after being at the other end of it for so long. He lifted out the nipple clamps and held them in his hands, remembering the sharp pain they had inflicted the first time they’re were put on him.

“We both forgot about these,” he murmured though it was only partly true on his part. “But they are still here, and only one of us is hurt by them. Only one of us had to wear these, yet all of Arles remembers when I did, and who led me around.”

/That/ was why he could not be at peace here, and probably never would be.

* * *

Laurent had invited - no, /insisted/ upon - this conversation, so he did sit through it. He brought one knee up to his body in an attempt at nonchalance, an attempt at comfort, but he began to worry at his lips with his forefinger while Damen spoke, just wanting to do /something/ with his body.

It was difficult for him to stay silent. It was difficult for him not to speak up when Damen mentioned hopelessness that Laurent couldn’t understand, as if his ‘power’ changed how he’d felt as a thirteen-year-old who had lost everything. He supposed then he’d had the same power Nicaise had, what Korus had. He had the power of the eye of a powerful man, but Laurent had no power of his own in that time. No one cared about the wills or the wants if a thirteen-year-old when both their king and golden heir were gone, but Laurent did understand the difference. He’d not had power then of his own weakness, of his own accord. Damen’s has been taken from him.

His eyes flicked up to Damen when the hurt he could do was mentioned, but that came as no surprise to Laurent. He knew how hateful and terrible he could be, now cold and conniving. It was something he had been trying to fix, but sometimes, all he had were his words. Damen had proven thrice now that Laurent could never beat him physically, and with his words, Laurent had no need to. Skilled as he was with a sword, he could cut a man down much more quickly with his tongue, and he shouldn’t /have/ to, but that was how he’d made it this far.

That and the revenge that drove him to do many things he wasn’t proud of.

His eyes settled on the rod when Damen pulled it from his belongings, kept alongside memories of his brother. With his mouth still obscured by his hand, the setting of his jaw almost could have been obscured.

He could not take it any longer.

“I hated you,” he finally said, his voice quieter than he had intended. “I cannot go back and undo what I did to you. The circumstances were different, /I/ was different—“

But that wasn’t so true.

His opinions on Damen had changed, his feelings for him, obviously, but to say Laurent was a different person was a bold statement for someone who had just had another man flogged months ago, a man castrated weeks ago. It was bold for someone who still, even now, could not act as a proper lover.

It had only been a year.

“I cannot be taken as a slave in Ios. I cannot make this /even/, Damianos.”

Laurent could not talk himself out of what he’d done any more than he had already tried to. He had made mistakes, but they had felt /right/ then. He had wanted Damianos to suffer, wanted him humiliated, wanted him dead. And he had succeeded. How could he have known it would later affect Damen’s rule of Vere? That was never meant to happen.

“Their memories cannot be erased. It is a part of our past that I’ve no power to have undone.”

But he had tried. He had befriended Damen despite, bedded him and fallen in love with him despite, stood on trial in front of Vere and Akielos to confess what he’d done with his brother’s killer, confessed his wrongs unapologetically to both kingdoms in nothing but irons and a torn chiton. Even when he had been given the option to lie, to save himself, he stood by Damianos.

“Those are things,” Laurent muttered, turning his gaze elsewhere. “Do what you will with them. I’ve no attachment, if that is your worry.”

He genuinely did not know what else to offer.

* * *

Laurent wasn’t understanding. Damen set the rod and chains back on the table, not hidden any longer. He replaced Auguste’s starburst in the chest and turned to face Laurent. He never wanted him to experience slavery or the degradation of being owned by someone else. Damen knew he had been lucky to have Laurent as a captor—even with all of his cruelty he had shown him great favor.

“I never want to be even,” Damen said, leaning against the table. His back itched just knowing what sat behind him, though he was never afraid that Laurent was going to hurt him again.

“I’m not asking you to understand it precisely because it would mean you would have to be enslaved.” Slave to a prince, no less.

He clasped his hand together, unsure of what to do or say. So for a long moment he simply stared down at the cuff on his wrist.

“I suppose I just want you to know that when you wound me here, the damage is doubled here.” He twisted the cuff on his wrist, anxious. “For that reason, I’m quicker to upset, quicker to assume the worst. I feel in the dark, lost even though I understand the language.” He spoke Veretian more than Akielon now.

“When you are in Ios, you are my betrothed. When I am here, I’m a visiting slave-turned-king.”

* * *

“I don’t know how to amend that,” Laurent doubled down, truly trying not to become frustrated, but it was all very frustrating! He understood what Damen had to say, would take it into consideration should they get to arguing again, but Laurent did not know how to make Vere less terrible for Damen.

He had been doing all he could to raise Damen’s status here, worked hard to integrate the cultures, the people, to have Damen respected, /feared/.

“You—“

Laurent was truly at a loss, for this was a problem that could not just be /fixed/. This would take time, new memories, a new generation even. The rumours would always stay - Vere was ruthless, but so were those in Ios! People could just be terrible! Everywhere! Vere night never be for Damen, and Laurent would not blame him for that, but it would not erase the guilt that plagued Laurent about it.

“My kingdoms comes with me,” Laurent finally decided upon, solemnly. “So do my people and so does our past. All of it. And I—“

Laurent stopped.

That wasn’t a solution, either.

There wasn’t a solution.

This was just the state of things that Damen wanted Laurent to understand, and understand it as he did, he did not know what else to do regarding it. He could not change who he was by location. If he could, he would have months ago, wild have been a better lover, a better king, but that was something that took as much time as Vere’s transition.

“It will change when we are wed.” Laurent said what he could, wasn’t sure what other comfort he could offer. A proper lover would have stood by now, moved to Damen, held him and assured him that was not the case, that it was in his head, that they would prove him wrong, but that was not how Laurent’s brain /worked/. He wanted a solution, a pragmatic answer to all of this - something soft words could not provide.

“When they have to see you as you are. Until then, I can only...do as I have been.”

He turned to Damen.

“But I suppose you believe that to not be enough?”

It wasn’t the beginning of another argument - just a fact.

* * *

Damen had been letting these feelings build over the month he had been in Arles, but he hadn’t really thought about them, because he never took time alone. When he wasn’t with Laurent, he was with his men. He had watched them slowly adopt Veretian customs—first with secrecy but now openly. Some had pets they were growing quite fond of. Jord had Lucien, who he seemed to adore more with each passing day. Their kingdoms were coming together, but their kings only seemed to be coming apart.

But he thought about things now. Laurent was a calming force for him, even during a fight. Nikandros appreciated dialogue but was still quick to draw his sword, but Laurent sat and /thought/ for hours. It affected Damen, made him think more clearly about his own problems.

“You are doing your best, and that is always enough,” Damen said, but he wasn’t sure if his words were empty. He knew Laurent had a lot on his plate to secure his own throne.

“Look at me,” Damen said, gesturing to the Veretian attire he still wore, his pants still damp from the snow, his bare feet, his rumpled undershirt. “Can you honestly say I carry myself like a king? Even in the market I followed after you, besotted. I don’t regret that, but I know it diminishes my status.”

He looked to the shuttered windows, where wind tried to sneak in even now.

“Perhaps you are right, we should hide our devotion for each other. It only seems to make us weaker. Me, mostly.”

* * *

Laurent supposed it was /an/ option. He had been pushing for Damen to understand it for so long, but it did feel odd to hear him say it aloud. Laurent wasn’t quite sure what he would even lose in Damen’s idea of following through with this, but he already felt the emptiness there.

But Laurent would do what was best for their kingdom and for them in the long run. It was the only reason he still entertained this courting debacle.

“I will know you still love me,” Laurent said decisively, looking hot at Damen as he had been asked to. He did look...unlike himself in the Veretian attire. Laurent thought he looked quite handsome, of course, but he could understand where Damen was coming from. “I will have no doubts.”

It would not be ideal, but it would be what Vere needed.

“We will be allowed to love openly when we are wed, when the union is solidified. Until then, we have to give them less to hold against us. I know it is not your inclination, but...this is Vere.”

* * *

It wasn’t as difficult as it should have been to put up his walls in public. Pallas commented on it first, but Damen assured him it was fine. Damen tried to focus more on being a king, and it worked. He flattened several Veretians in the practice rings and attended training with Laurent that morning, though they didn’t spar. Lunch was cordial, and Damen pretended not to notice when Paschal informed Laurent that Fynn was well, but their plans would need to be had in his chambers. No one could argue with a physician’s orders, so only a few looks were tossed around the table.

Paschal has told his news for a reason, and said as much with the look he gave Damen before he was dismissed.

Fynn was ecstatic. He’d eaten well, taken his concocted medicines and teas, and had slept all day to reserve his energy for an evening of reading and talking with Laurent. He had chosen three books with tales of Kempt, and one oft-overlooked tome with a story of a Veretian handmaiden-turned-Vaskian-princess. He hoped Laurent liked his choices.

He was permitted a bath, where he was attended by servants who lathered him with fine perfumes until he smelled of mint and warm oil. His hair was combed and styled and his outfit was carefully selected to portray something equally handsome as it was casual.

His wine bottle sat at the ready, along with an assortment of teas for Laurent to choose from. Candles were lit, as was the fire, and Fynn propped himself up on silk pillows, with plenty to either side for Laurent to lounge in.

All he had to do now was wait.

* * *

Laurent noticed the change immediately.

He still had Damen in private, though even then, things were not the same. They never once reached the closeness they’d had leaving Auguste in the gardens, but they were not so distanced that Laurent felt need to worry. Damen still kissed him, still stayed in their chambers most nights, but it was clear he was still trying to warm up to these new walls he’d been forced to build.

People talked, of course, it was what they did. It would take time for the change to fully spread, but it had begun. Both Damen and Laurent appeared more focused, even if that was not truly the case, and though the rumours were not as /fun/ anymore, people concocted what they could.

So when the news that the Kemptian duke was well again hit, it took off like a loosed arrow about the palace, and then into the surrounding town. Finally, there would be something more dramatic to speak of, and Vere did so like their drama.

Laurent readied for his meeting with Fynn in their chambers, Damen nearby, and Laurent felt... a little more at ease than he had expected. With Damen playing in the game now, with his perceived understanding of what Vere needed, Laurent did not feel such a strong rift between them as he laced his jacket. Perhaps that was because there was already a rift, but it all felt quite...normal.

“What will you do while I am away?” Laurent asked, turning to his betrothed just to gauge any change in Damen over this.

* * *

Damen was thankful that Laurent hadn’t stood up from their meal to go attend Fynn, but he didn’t enjoy watching Laurent ready himself to meet another man. That being said, he was tired and looking forward to a long nap until Laurent returned. Sleeping in the same bed helped remind him that this was just a game, but he didn’t stay in their chambers when Laurent wasn’t there.

“I think I’ll patrol with some of your men. I’ve been trying to learn the maps of the city but it isn’t the same as walking them.” He doubted he would return to Laurent in bed waiting, but he hoped to return the favor to Laurent that he had been given the other night. “I walked it in daylight so now it’s time to walk it in the dark.”

He could understand now how Laurent had been able to abstain from him for so long. Seeing Laurent as a fellow king and nothing more made it easier to accept his leaving.

“You look handsome,” he complimented, and he meant it. “Fynn will be pleased to see you.”

* * *

It would be a good use of Damen’s time. Even after they were wed, they would need to return to Arles from time to time, and Damen should know his way about his own kingdom. Besides, he should learn of the shops, the stalls, all that Vere had to offer. He should know of the passages guards could use in times of turmoil and strife. Laurent was impressed Damen had thought to take such initiative.

Laurent did pass on the joke about Damen actually knowing his way should he ever need to escape Laurent again. There were so many other escapes that were not the hole in the wall through the training field.

“Have them show you the mountain path,” Laurent told Damen. “It is a private escape path should it ever be needed. It stems from three rooms: the study, the heir chambers, and the king’s chambers.”

Laurent did not have access to it from his own rooms.

He was just about to offer another point of interest when Damen complimented him by way of /Fynn/. He could tell Damen meant it, and that warmed his heart.

“I believe /you/ could walk in covered in mud, and he’d be pleased to see you,” Laurent chuckled, straightening his jacket before checking himself in the mirror. “He’s been alone with no company but his own guards and Paschal for days.”

Laurent made his way across the room to Damen, and once he was sufficiently in Damen’s space, he pulled him down for a kiss - the tip of his nose, his cheek, his eyelids. It was a private moment. He was allowed this.

“Stay warm,” he told Damen as he ruffled his dark curls. “And come straight to me should any Veretian be unkind. I’ll not have it.” As he’d promised. Damen was doing so well right now with Vere - he was appearing to anyway - and Laurent would not see it undone.

* * *

Damen doubted there would ever be a scenario where Fynn would be glad to see him, no matter how sick he had gotten. But that just meant he would be even more interested in seeing Laurent. He tried not to let himself get jealous. Laurent had been more like his usual self over the past few days, and took more initiative in private to be with him.

Damen allowed himself a smile when Laurent moved in close. The kisses were tender, and he knew they were so rare from a man like Laurent that his heart began to melt.

“Speaking of secret paths, if we intend to stay in this room we will need a path of our own, to keep safe,” Damen murmured. He lifted his hand to thumb at the corner of Laurent’s mouth, dimly remembering when such an action was apt to get him killed.

“I love you,” he said. He leaned down for a proper kiss, but kept it chaste. “Call for me should Fynn get too restless. I’ll behead him.”


	16. Part I: Storm [22.08.20]

“I was thinking about having one made behind the bookshelf,” Laurent joked dryly before going in for the kiss Damen initiated. He still was not angry, from what Laurent could see - he barely even seemed nervous about Laurent leaving. It felt good, gave Laurent a little boost of confidence in all of this.

And the beheading threat made him laugh.

“You fearsome man,” Laurent grinned in teasing praise, for he knew Damen was still too good a man to ever do such a thing. Not unless he harmed Laurent - or Laurent just /asked/ Damen to behead him. He was not unaware of his influence.

“I love you,” Laurent said again with a final little wave, and then he made his way out the door and down the hall to Fynn’s room, where the guards easily parted to allow Laurent in.

And Fynn looked like his old self, despite fewer pounds on him and the obvious signs of a passed sickness worn on him.

Laurent couldn’t help but he impressed as to how Fynn has bounced back.

“I cannot smell the sick over the oils on your skin, so there’s that,” Laurent teased right away, and his smile was genuine. Laurent was /so relieved/ to see Fynn well, to see that he had made it, to see that Laurent had not killed him. He couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

Fynn visibly brightened when Laurent walked into the room. “Good, I had them scrub away a few layers of my skin, so I think all traces of sickness are gone,” he returned. That smile was cure enough for his remaining aches. He smoothed his blankets, feeling rather awkward that he wasn’t supposed to get out of bed just to greet Laurent. Paschal said he was permitted to walk down the hall and that was it.

“I picked books,” he said, gesturing to the stack at the end of his bed. “Kemptian stories and one Veretian book that is quite rare. I’m interested to see if you’ve read it.”

He adjusted himself against the pillows again, wishing he could do something more.

“I also chose teas for you, and wine as I promised. Paschal said I must be careful not to drink too much, but he doesn’t fear that I will fall I’ll again unless I exert myself.”

He had so many questions to ask about how things had been going. He’d heard that Damianos was acting strangely distant, that he had stopped showing affection except when required of him.

“Will you sit with me?” he asked. “I understand if it is too forward, but I only plan to read with you, and it would be easier that way.”

* * *

Laurent made his way over to the books, picking them up and glancing over the covers as Fynn described them. They were all quite old, but kept in fine condition, and the Veretian book was a title Laurent knew well.

“Auguste had this book for a long while,” Laurent marvelled, turning the Veretian book in his hand, feeling the leather binding under his fingertips. “I stole it from his rooms many times.” Laurent turned it over again. “But Auguste was never much of a reader, was he?”

He placed the book down on the bed to look at the others, busying himself until Fynn, perhaps predictably, invited him to sit. Not in a chair, but just beside him.

“It will hardly be the most forward thing we have done,” Laurent dismissed with a joke as he took his seat, kicking his feet up into the bed to sit comfortably against the headboard.

“How are you feeling?” Laurent did ask then, setting the books in his lap to give Fynn a proper once over. He had definitely looked worse, but now, there was some colour back in his skin, a healthier fullness to his face. “Courting aside. You were so ill. I was worried for you.”

* * *

Fynn smiled. It made sense that Auguste had pretended to read that story, as Fynn almost always brought it when he visited and lost it just as many. “I probably told him the story once, and I’m sure he used it to charm women into his bed,” Fynn laughed. But it warmed him to know Laurent had stolen it to read, that they both enjoyed it.

Relief flooded him when Laurent took up the spot beside him. He craved the body heat of another person, and the close company. He couldn’t hope to hide his glances at Laurent’s lips. Having him so close fed into the daydreams Fynn had entertained himself with over the past few days.

“I didn’t expect to be so weak,” Fynn admitted. “But I feel much better now. Not as strong as I would like to be, but in a few days, I think I will be more than able to attend my duties and make up for lost time.”

He turned his head to smirk at Laurent, but his eyes were fond. “I don’t look so ghastly, do I?”

With a bit of effort, he poured himself a glass of wine to begin sipping on.

“So. What would you like to read? Or would you rather I asked how things are going with Damianos? I have heard rumors.”

* * *

“Rumours? In Vere?” Laurent feigned surprise as he moved to reach over Fynn - not at all put off by their momentary closeness - and grabbed a cup of tea for himself. He was not even sure which he’d picked - all Laurent knew was that he would need something to busy himself with in these little pauses.

It was easy to find himself comfortable in this, now that Fynn had confirmed his improving health, and now, with Damen seeming to understand this, it was easier for Laurent to work.

It helped that he and Fynn already had such a rapport with one another.

“The Kemptian book,” Laurent decided as he handed it over to Fynn, letting him settle with it while Laurent explained, “And Damianos is fine. Akielos keeps him as engrossed as Vere keeps myself.”

And then, for flair of the game he added:

“I have looked forward to this leisure with you.”

And the comment did not seem entirely put on.

Truth be told, even if Laurent knew where his heart lay, spending time with Fynn, if he looked past Damen’s feelings on it, was easy. Especially when Damen was, in so many words, supporting it, /and/ when this was technically working to improve Vere.

* * *

Fynn couldn’t tell if he was being played. Laurent hadn’t visited him once since he first fell ill again after dinner, yet here he was leaning in close enough that Fynn could feel his breath on his skin and would only have to shift his head just slightly to press his lips to the softness of Laurent’s neck.

He sipped his wine to busy his mouth as Laurent selected their book, brows lifting as Laurent admitted to wanting to spend time with him. Fynn had been looking forward to it too, obviously, but had Laurent? Truly?

“I’m happy to hear that,” he said. “I’m happy to provide some relief from the burdens of two kingdoms.” It wasn’t exactly an insult to Damianos, but a Veretian compliment.

Fynn selected their book and settled himself as he opened the first page. The Kemptian language wasn’t easy for foreigners, but Laurent was no beginner.

“How would you like to do it? Would you like me to translate, or should we work on your understanding of my language?”

* * *

“I want to read it,” Laurent decided easily, finger trailing down the inked page as he looked over the written language. Again, it was a language he knew the basics of speaking, but reading? That would be a challenge.

But Laurent did not worry about looking like a fool in front of Fynn. It was not as if he had not seen Laurent at worse.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, Laurent powered through the first few pages without much help. He sounded like a child trying to read it, and many times had to stop to laugh at himself, but for the most part, he could see the root of most the Kemptian language.

It just took him quite a bit of time to get through those pages and much of it was context clues Laurent just happened to pick up on.

“What’s this?” He asked, pointing at a word that /looked/ like the Veretian word for cage, but it made no sense in context.

This was never a moment Laurent ever really had with Damen and the Akielon language. Laurent was mostly self-taught, and when Damen /had/ come around, they were not exactly in a place to sit down and learn together. Laurent did get some training with Damen later on, but things were tumultuous then. This did not even remind him of those moments.

Laurent would very much like to do this with Damen again.

* * *

Fynn leaned against Laurent as he read, sipping on wine and correcting pronunciation when it was needed. He was impressed that Laurent knew so much of the language, enough to read through the first few pages without issue. Any tension in the room melted away with time and drink. Soon the room was pleasantly warm around him, and he found himself leaning more against Laurent.

“It’s a drink,” Fynn explained at the question. “Kalge is a mountain drink. A heavy ale. So she asked for him to fetch Kalge, so she’s had a rough time of it after the horses escaped.”

He gave an easy smile. “You’re better than I thought. Or very good at sounding out words and pretending to understand,” he teased.

“Would you like me to read? You can see how much you understand of the spoken word.”

* * *

“Kalge,” Laurent repeated, staring at the word as he said it and fixing it to memory. He could not think of a time he would ever need the word - it was not something he would ever have to offer to Fynn to get him close - but it was knowledge, and Laurent loved to /know/ things. So he compartmentalised it and smiled softly, pleased with himself that the very act Fynn spoke of had gone over so well.

“What matters is that you cannot tell the difference,” Laurent replied with a smirk as he handed over the book.

Unfortunately for him, Fynn would realise just what inferences Laurent had made, and just how slowly Laurent had been reading to make this inference. He had started with the same understanding of Kemptian as he had with Akielon, but he’d had much more time to practice the Akielon language recently. He had not spoken Kemptian frequently since his mother was alive, and even then, she truly only spoke it in meetings Laurent did not attend, and to herself as he went about her day.

“Slow down,” Laurent told Fynn when he did begin to read, too quickly to a point where Laurent could not tell where one word ended and another began, leaving him feeling left behind in the story. He would not look at his wisest in the way Fynn would need to read to him, but this was a moment to /learn/, and he needed to. Especially if he would have any sort of connection to those past Fynn in Kempt.

* * *

Fynn read in the higher accent that Laurent would hear in any court proceedings in Kempt. Perhaps at his side, but Fynn still wasn’t sure that would happen. Laurent was warming to him and turning cold to Damen, but Laurent hadn’t made any move to end his union with Damen. Fynn had wasted time—probably too much.

“I’ll read this passage again,” Fynn offered when Laurent asked him to slow. He put his finger on the page and moved it down as he read along, but tried to keep it minimal.

“This phrase means ‘now butter the fish’—it means to hurry up and get to the point,” Fynn said. “Jetzt mal Butter bei die Fische.”

He grinned. “And he says, _I love you_ here.”

His heart ticked a little faster, but other than that he was fine. He was not in love with Laurent, but he did care for him very much.

“So they’ve finally said it to each other,” he said. “Watch how he ruins it.”

Fynn continued reading about the handsome knight failed to secure the hand of the princess due to his own arrogance.

* * *

It was a silly phrase, but Laurent tried at it seriously, multiple times, but his accent tripped him up on the words. His accent was more suited for Kemptian than it was Akielon, but the Veretian accent was so strong, it truly had only ever suited itself for its own language - even more so among the elite. Laurent ended up with something close though, something that, if he said it aloud to a dignitary, would have been understood.

Laurent tapped at the phrase Fynn mentioned next and said, “I know this one. My mother used to say this every night.” It was almost cruel that it was the one Kemptian phrase Laurent could say flawlessly, but he said it aloud anyway, just to prove he could. He didn’t /not/ notice the implications of saying it aloud, but he hardly thought they could hurt.

“Another tragedy,” Laurent murmured as the story ended, hands folded around his tea, a frown on his face. “Does no one ever find happiness in the literature of Kempt either?”

Laurent supposed tragedy was the constant that could truly bring them all together if nothing else worked.

* * *

Fynn laughed. “It isn’t a tragedy.” He flipped back a few pages when the knight's arrogance began to get the better of him. “The princess hadn’t realized his faults, and now she’s safe from them. Perhaps our language sounds crass, but it is a good ending.”

He’d known Laurent’s mother well enough to remember her grace as she walked down the halls, her soft smile when she tucked Auguste’s hair behind his ears. Fynn had liked her very much, but Kempt customs weren’t very affectionate on the whole, so he was glad to hear she had told Laurent that she loved him.

“I’m glad she said it often. My mother was too traditional. She only embraced me twice that I can remember. My father only once.”

His smile softened, and he sipped more wine.

“Translate the ending for me. I think it’s important for you to understand.”

* * *

Laurent had heard Kemptians were cold, he just did not understand the weight of the statement when his mother had been how she was. He only thought he’d had a terribly grump grandfather. Between Fynn and his mother, Laurent thought he’d shaped an image of Kempt, but learning he was wrong was just as important.

Laurent was very focused on his task, as he was so apt, that perhaps he had, for the moment, forgotten this hole courting thing. This was just time with Fynn, and he was enjoying it, didn’t think he needed the frills and sweet words of the game right now.

He turned his attention back to the book and, after Fynn’s reading of the language, Laurent sounded absolutely bumbling, though he was trying his best. It ended up being easier to just read to himself, to pick out words he needed help with, have them translated and keep on going. It was probably not the pace Fynn had envisioned, nor the team exercise, but Laurent did get to the ending more quickly than he would have trying to read it aloud.

He paused, head tilted just so as he reread the final sentence over and over.

“There must be more?” Laurent asked, gaze back on Fynn. “Is it missing pages?”

* * *

Fynn didn’t mind that Laurent wanted to read the book to himself, thought speaking was the best way to learn a language. He helped as he could whenever Laurent had a question, but otherwise worked on his third glass of wine. He wished he had the sounds of Laurent’s voice to soothe him, but the quiet was comfortable too.

“The princess is freed from her horrible future with the knight to find a better husband. We can’t hear their whole lives,” Fynn said. “Though perhaps another story was written to explain it. I like to imagine she found a kind nobleman to care for her.”

He rested his head against the headboard, closing his eyes. The wine was taking effect.

“Laurent,” Fynn asked. “You are leading Vere better than I could have imagined. What you’ve done...Paschal told me the stories of how you saved the kingdom.” He patted Laurent’s hand, though it did linger. “And I understand more of why Damianos is so important to you.” He let out a little snort. “I wish I could be half as important.”

* * *

Surely, they could hear /more/ of their lives. Did the princess ever marry, ever rule on her own? Did she enact some revenge in the knight? Did her family replace him with an equally arrogant suitor? Laurent scrunched up his nose for only a moment, not used to a story with a happy ending - if that’s that they wanted to call this. This...vast unknown.

Laurent was just reaching for the third book when he heard the light thump of Fynn’s head, and he turned to see him relaxed against the headboard, eyes closed, lips relaxed.

Wine.

It was why Laurent would not drink it.

Fynn’s guard wasn’t down, his tongue loose. He looked pleasantly tired, and Laurent knew from experience that he was probably luxuriating one the warmth spreading through him from the drink. It was another thing Laurent hated about wine.

A brief memory flit through Laurent’s mind; Fynn and Auguste, both wine drunk, laid out amongst the cushions, side by side, while Laurent sat there, giving the dancing pets the attention the other two men could not in their state.

And then Laurent was being praised, and it called his attention. But not as much as what Fynn said last.

“You are more than half as important,” Laurent told Fynn in a dismissive tone, as if it were obvious and Fynn was just being ridiculous. “You know that. Do not let the wine affect your thinking.”

* * *

“The wine makes me tell the truth,” Fynn said, his voice pleasantly slurred. It had been so long since he was drunk in Vere. Last time had been with Auguste, before the war. Everything was before the war.

He smiled politely when Laurent explained he was more than half. “Just above half, then,” he countered. “He hurts you. Maybe he is as kind and fair as you say, but he still hurts you. You show me kindness and he looks as if he’ll strike you.”

He folded his hand over Laurent’s. “If you must marry him, I understand. But I would keep my promise and stay at your side if you wished it,” he said.

“You could come to Kempt,” he murmured, soft and gentle. “My father’s estate will soon be mine. Visit me and take time away from him with someone who won’t harm you. I will protect you with everything I have, even if it’s the end of me.”

* * *

Laurent could not say he’d expected this conversation to go down this path, mostly because he thought it would take a much longer time to get to this point. Just like that, wine drunk and truthful, Fynn had said the exact words Laurent had been working towards in this whole game - that he would stay by Laurent’s side, even if he chose Damen.

This was it - the endgame. This was the time for Laurent to push right in with the idea of an alliance, with their kindness to each other extending throughout their kingdoms—

But there was a more pressing matter.

“He struck me once,” Laurent said very softly, placing his hand over Fynn’s and thinking casually at it. “It was just after I had mocked the death of his father, told him it has been a deserved death, and how I would have loved to watch it and laugh.”

He let that sit for a moment, at peace with the fact he’d said it aloud. It painted him for who he had been, a side of him Fynn had never seen. Perhaps if he could see how Laurent was now, he could see how Damen might have changed.

“I tried to flog him to death. And then I tried to starve him. I tried to have him raped, I humiliated him, has every intention to let him rot in a cell, and when that did not work, and do you know what he did?” Laurent looked up from Fynn’s hand, tried to catch his glassy eyes. “He saved my life. He fought for me. Multiple times, if I’m being honest. He had so many chances to hurt me in return for what I did to him, and he chose to love me instead.”

“He will never hurt me Fynn.” And it was so important that he knew that. “We will fight, but does that surprise you? He chose /me/.”

And Laurent knew - he /knew/ - where Fynn’s mind would go, and he had to nip that, and quick. Not for the hope of the alliance, but for closure.

“Auguste’s death was a decision of war.” Laurent had so boldly started this, knew it needed to be said, but it wasn’t easy. It was something Laurent had to muscle through, had to force out so that Fynn might understand, might come to peace with it, as Laurent had. “Damianos— It was tactical. Auguste was at the head, inspiring and invincible, leading like we both know he could, and Damen...cut off the head. He limited bloodshed for our people and his own. We just happened to be the side that lost a prince.” And a king, but that blood was not on Akielos’ hands.

“He is not the warlord Theomedes was. He could have run down thousands of men that day, and instead, he chose the one. To save his own.”

Laurent had come to terms with it, saw that the battle was at no fault of Damen or Auguste. Their decisions did not bring them there, but those of their kingdoms. It was kill or be killed, and Auguste had been so tired...

“He is a /good/ man, Fynn,” Laurent pressed as he has a hundred times before, but it was so important now. “He is suffering through being here, after everything /I/ did to him, so that I might be at peace right now. Because he loves me, Fynn.”

* * *

Fynn sobered for a moment when he heard that Damianos has indeed struck him. That /bastard/. He turned his hand under Laurent’s and gave a reassuring squeeze. He would find a way to kill the Akielon king, no matter what ended up happening to him. For Auguste, for Laure—

He did not expect what came out of Laurent’s mouth next. He wouldn’t have believed a word of it had it not come from Laurent’s mouth. Of course he knew Veretians feared Laurent and his icy blood and cruelty, but Fynn knew that was a ruse to protect his station. Laurent inflicted punishments to make a point, but Fynn could not imagine him repeatedly trying to harm a man simply for existing.

And to think Damianos was a man who would still save Laurent after all of it. Fynn still didn’t trust it, but he respected it.

Though it made him feel ill to hear Laurent make excuses for Auguste’s death.

“He could have killed Aleron,” Fynn choked out, but he knew that Auguste would have gladly taken his place to fight Damianos. Auguste was the best swordsman Fynn had ever seen. There was no chance in his losing, even tired.

He was quiet for a long moment. Tears leaked from his closed eyes as he was momentarily strewn on cushions beside Auguste, talking of women and the future of Vere. To be friends with a king, he had thought then.

“I miss him so terribly,” Fynn whispered. He rested his head against Laurent, nuzzling into his collar that smelled so much like his brother’s, or perhaps just Vere.

“I loved him once,” Fynn said with a bitter laugh. “When we were both much younger. That summer I confessed to him in a rush of hope and he told me he wished he didn’t enjoy women so much so we could be together.”

He sighed. “We grew, I found others. I loved him as my closest friend and nothing more. But I always cared for you, and as I said, I had hoped one day I would be able to ask for your hand.”

A chuckle escaped him as he curled in closer. He missed touch. “I suppose I did achieve that. But you won’t take it, will you?”

* * *

Laurent should have been shocked by the confession, but he supposed he had always known. Fynn and Auguste had been so close, that even Laurent had questioned it from time to time, but only because he had wanted to understand their closeness. He had always seen the bond between them as different, and hearing it solidified what he had always been aware of.

Laurent had always wanted a bond like Auguste and Fynn had.

And he supposed he had gotten it.

“He loved you,” Laurent murmured knowingly, holding Fynn’s head as he would have Damen’s, being as reassuring as he knew how to be. He had once had to face Auguste’s death and accept it. He knew how Fynn felt. “I think, had he become king, your bond would have stayed strong. You two would have allied Kempt and Vere once more. As I hoped to.”

Laurent could never be Auguste, even though that was not what Fynn had asked of him. As much as he wanted to make this right, fill at least one role Auguste had left empty, this wasn’t right for either of them. Laurent was not the boy Fynn knew, and Laurent did not know that Fynn would ever be able to accept his changes as Damen had. He had seen it, in just three flash of expression when Laurent admitted to his wrongs. He had grown. They had grown. Without Auguste.

But that did not mean this was all over.

Laurent turned his body, and the look in his eyes gave way to his decision before his words did.

“I cannot take your hand,” he said sadly, but decisively. “You are a dear friend - who means much more to me than half as much as Damianos - but I love him, Fynn. I love him so much. I cannot think of a world without him by my side.”

* * *

It was frightening how similar Laurent and Auguste were. Rejection looked the same in their eyes. Fynn knew before Laurent said a word that he had lost. The pain was deep, not because Fynn had necessarily wanted something physical with Laurent, though he had hoped for it. It was more the loss of the close connection that only came with a relationship. He’d wanted Laurent to know him, to be closer to him than Damen was.

But he was too late.

Fynn swallowed hard, but nodded. Laurent hadn’t severed their relationship on the whole, but it certainly felt like it.

“I’ll assume I can’t dissuade you,” Fynn said, unable to hide his hurt. “So why let believe I could? I would have found some other way to keep our alliance.”

He looked to Laurent, wishing he could take it back and try for one more kiss.

“Why did you kiss me back?” He asked, and the true hurt leaked there. “You kissed me. I don’t understand.”

* * *

Ah, weren’t these the consequences of his actions? Having to now face this.

And Laurent deserved it. He had done this to so many undeserving men, but Fynn truly had not deserved this.

It was supposed to be easy.

He could lie, of course, tell Fynn it had never been decided at first, save himself the embarrassment of being honest, but Laurent was still the man who had slept with his brother’s killer, wasn’t he? He was prone to bad decisions, it seemed, and even more so, to owning up to them when necessary.

“I wanted Vere and Kempt’s alliance restored,” Laurent said quietly, swallowing back a full helping of guilt, though he approached it in his usual pragmatic style. “I wanted Vere and Akielos and Kempt, together again, to do what none of my family could. And I could not deny Auguste one of his last wishes.”

“And,” Laurent went on with a sudden shift to something softer, more honest, “I was fond of you - when we were young - but I saw you had eyes for Auguste. I had never—“

Oh, this was bordering on too much honesty for Laurent, but he knew he owed it to Fynn. He did.

“You reminded me of him, of how Damen and I came to be together, and I am...inexperienced with such desires.” He took a breath. “I kissed you because I had the desire to. I was overcome with it, and I...did not think. I am sorry for that.”

* * *

Fynn closed his eyes, awash in his wine. He thought back to their kiss, how soft Laurent’s lips had been, how they tasted so familiar to him. He had kissed Auguste before, but not in a way that meant anything. They had been two young boys experimenting, and hadn’t kissed after Fynn had developed feelings later in their teenage years. It had been a fleeting love, but it had rooted him to Auguste forever in how he had responded to it.

Perhaps now he would do the same for Vere’s younger prince.

“You need not apologize,” Fynn said with a shake of his head, his voice soft. “I’m flattered, truly.” So much that his cheeks went pink.

“It puzzles me that Damianos is so possessive of you. Akielons often do not practice monogamy, yet he is so clearly upset when we’re together.”

Fynn cocked his head. “Do you desire to kiss me now?” he asked. “I won’t, but I’m curious if it was just our harrowing moment of if you’re attracted to me.”

He reached up just to test, running his thumb along Laurent’s fine jawbone.

“Damianos knows he has your heart, yes? So what is the problem with kissing me? With acting upon your desires instead of letting them fester into feelings beyond the physical?”

* * *

Fynn made a point with Damen’s possessiveness, and Laurent did not have a clear-cut answer for him. He imagined it had something to do with his desire to protect, as well as his history of betrayal. Truth be told, Laurent did not usually mind it - not until it turned to distrust on his part. He supposed he deserved that distrust now, but it had made him so angry before...

Laurent’s eyes shot up with Fynn’s question of his desires, and for a brief flash of a moment, Laurent’s expression gave him away. It was the guilt, there in plain view for Fynn to see—

Before Laurent reigned it in, his expression softened.

“It was not just a harrowing moment,” Laurent said plainly. He even shrugged when he found himself able to be comfortable with what he had to say. “But I would not act on it again. For your sake and mine.” They needed to establish that sort of thing now, while they were in the spirits to do so. But Laurent saw no harm in telling the truth.

“You are a handsome man, Fynn,” Laurent assured him, “But you are aware of that. You only wanted to hear me say it aloud.”

And it could have ended there, but Fynn’s questioning caught him off guard again.

Fynn had no filter, something Laurent had once admired until he’d been on the receiving end of it.

“Damianos’ lover left him for his brother,” Laurent said honestly, and even as he said it, he felt something well up in him he did not quite like. Something like anger, deep in his gut, while Fynn bore down on the exact question Laurent still had. Did Damen still not trust that he had Laurent’s heart? Had he not given it fully, plainly? “He loves me wholly, but...perhaps he doubts my heart. He thinks I am still young, and perhaps—“

That was too much to share, so Laurent dismissed it with a wave.

“Monogamy suits me. I am not the man Auguste was in that respect.”

* * *

Fynn smiled, turning his head against the headboard to regard Laurent. He wasn’t sure if he was just making a claim or if he wouldn’t act on it if something came about. Fynn understood the sex part of monogamy, but he had been around sailors long enough to agree with the idea that physical affection with others was helpful to abstain from true infidelity.

It was nice to hear that someone as beautiful as Laurent was attracted to him—strangely so. Laurent could have whoever he wanted, and so many had tried for his hand. Fynn was kicking himself now for not having tried harder. Auguste had never encouraged the idea until the war, but he /had/ mentioned it on a few occasions before that.

“I wanted to hear /you/ say it, yes,” Fynn teased, but his smile faded soon after. It wasn’t often that he thought about spending life alone, but now it seemed more likely than ever. That, or he would have to find himself a pet to keep him company. Perhaps the Akielon one they had seen at the party.

“Ah,” Fynn said with a knowing nod. “Wounded by a past lover.”

He shot Laurent a look about his monogamy comment. “You kissed me while betrothed to a man you had no intention of leaving.” _And I know you’ll do it again,_ he wanted to add, but he knew Laurent would take it as a challenge.

“You sound hesitant, and that is unlike you,” Fynn added. He looked over Laurent’s face, the smooth white of his skin. “And he sounds needy. Men who are betrayed typically are. I assume he wants near constant reassurance? Of a physical nature, I’m sure. Men like that need the doting touches of an attentive lover.”

Laurent didn’t seem the type.

“As someone important to you, I suggest you work on that before you’re married. Let him take a pet, or make yourself comfortable showing affection to someone like me,” Fynn offered. “The neediness can lead to feelings of ownership—especially if he has unresolved notions about power from being enslaved, as I’m sure he does."

* * *

“I almost liked you more when you were dying,” Laurent mumbled in good graces, but he’d be lying if he said he enjoyed this introspective look at his relationship with Damen. It had his issues, all of which he was trying to work out, and he did not need them pointed out by /Fynn/. Laurent was twenty-one, and he definitely knew how relationships worked.

Most definitely.

Like the kiss with Fynn. It had, technically, been an accident. He’d not /meant/ to break trust with it, he’d just...he'd not been thinking.

Either way, this was his to fix on his own, and he would. He could. He and Damen were figuring it out by the day.

“Damianos will never attempt to /own/ me, Fynn. He is not /so/ foolish.” But the advice was not ignored entirely. Laurent was not at all happy to hear it so boldly given, and he would not even consider one of those options, but it was noted.

He much preferred the advice over being told what was and what was not like him. Fynn still did not truly know Laurent outside of the courting game - though he supposed there would be time to do so now.

“Damianos is more accepting of this now than you may believe,” Laurent went on confidently and, true to form, he picked up the Veretian book on his lap and flipped it open, eyes on the familiar words. “So long as I need him, he will be there. You need not worry about that.”

* * *

“This is what happens when I stop courting you,” Fynn returned, but it was light. He had Laurent’s closeness and though he believed it to be more than friendship, he wasn’t in the mood to test it. His heart hurt enough already and he didn’t really want to think about how life was going to be when he returned home to his father without a prince on his arm.

“He sulks like a child,” Fynn said with a snort. “I haven’t even seen him and I’ve heard about it. He is publicly distancing from you when usually he is following you like a distraught puppy.”

A man like Damianos did not give up, and he did not let go without a fight. He wouldn’t just allow Laurent to waltz off with him without consequence.

He poured himself more wine and leaned against him again.

“Read to me?” Fynn murmured around a sip of wine. “I’m feeling ill again, only your voice will soothe me.”

* * *

“He does sometimes, yes,” Laurent agreed with a little smile. He did not mind Damen’s sulking most of the time. Anything could press at his nerves in time, but for the most part, Damen’s idiosyncrasies did not bother him. It was always dependent on Laurent’s moods, which he liked to believe were more manageable now.

“Have you considered putting the wine down?” Laurent asked when Fynn mentioned feeling ill, but he still did not sound too harsh. He picked up the book and did as asked all the same, for he did not mind reading his own language allowed.

The book was terribly Veretian however, and Laurent found himself reading aloud the very many lewd acts of a Veretian commoner as he attempted to ascend into nobility. It was a book of hijinks truly, but it ended with a kind message of being who you were and not putting on facades to find happiness.

It was just a matter of getting there first.

As he read, without err, his mind did wander however. He knew he was only reading this to distract himself, knew he was just trying to get things between himself and Fynn something like normal again.

He wondered how much longer Fynn would stay. He wondered if his ides of an alliance would still be respected, carried through. He wondered what the Kemptians might think when their Herzog returned without a betrothed.

Laurent, without looking up from the book, reached over and took Fynn’s wine and placed it on the table on his side of the bed, just to get it away from him.

* * *

Fynn closed his eyes as Laurent began to read. The story was one he had heard before, but it sounded different when Laurent read it—the succinct vowels and verbs sounded better from his mouth than Flynn’s. He sipped on his wine almost continuously, trying to drive away his hurt. He was a grown man, and this was foolish, but he couldn’t help but feel he’d let Auguste down.

He laughed a few of the lewd moments, once to the point that he had to stop Laurent from reading just to laugh.

“You’ve got a mouth on you,” he said, still laughing. “Do continue.”

Eventually, Laurent took his wine away. Fynn groaned, but didn’t reach for it. It was getting late, and with no promise of any further closeness, probably time for Laurent to return to his beloved Damianos.

“And he ended up with the prince anyway, how poetic,” Fynn slurred. “Come, time to get you back to your most important, most loving, always in your heart.”

He crawled over Laurent and brushed noses with him once before tumbling out of bed on the other side.

“I s’pose I shouldn’t take m’wine with us,” Fynn laughed from the floor. He closed his eyes, rather liking the cool stone at his back.

“Did you have fun with me? Not too boring to entertain your false suitor?” He let out a snort. “My father will disown me. Made soooo many promises—thought how could Laurent refuse me? He’s marrying the Princekiller. I’ll save him from his plight—oh, but he loves him!”

Fynn lifted a hand and it flopped back to his chest.

“Once again, Fynn kann sich keinan Platz sichern,” he muttered. Then he sighed and sat up, his eyes bleary. “I s’pose the rumors are true of his prowess in bed if he’s claimed you.”

* * *

Laurent watched Fynn tumble, not taking any steps to stop it at first, as it was a short fall. He didn’t even start. He expected it of someone who had been drinking, and Fynn at least had the wherewithal to go hands-first into the floor before he rolled and just...laid there. Laurent looked down at him, at first without much emotion, and then with soft sympathy when Fynn started to spout his drunken words.

And yes, there were parts of Laurent that began to flare with anger. Fynn was lucky they had a past that Laurent cherished. Very lucky.

“Your father will not disown you for me choosing to marry Damianos,” Laurent assured Fynn, moving from the bed to stand over the scorned man. “Kempt will just have a new reason to detest Vere, and I will be short an alliance.” He said that more to test it, to see if a few more drinks had changed Fynn’s mind on staying by his side despite Laurent’s decision.

But Fynn spouted off something in Kemptian that Laurent could not understand at all. It was too slurred, too quick for what he’d just learned, but it definitely sounded self-deprecating.

And perhaps Laurent could let a bit of self-depreciation in there for what Fynn said next.

Laurent rolled his eyes, offered his hand to Fynn to help him from the floor.

“If you are implying that I fell for a cock and not a man, then you truly have not been listening to me,” Laurent told Fynn, grasping his hand and lifting him from the floor with little effort.

* * *

Fynn laughed again as he got to his feet. He wasn’t a lightweight—he was from Kempt—but wine made him lose his balance a bit more than ale. “I know, you’re the same as I am,” Fynn muttered, but it was fond. He pressed a kiss to Laurent’s hair.

“M’sure he’s /huge/,” he continued, chuckling. “And what a build he has on him. I’m surprised he doesn’t crush you—but you seem like one to ride.” He was teasing, mostly. “Oh, or perhaps you fuck him? A twist in the plot!”

He took Laurent’s arm and steadied himself for the walk down the hall.

“You won’t be short an alliance,” Fynn assured him, finally registering what he had said. “I told you that I care for you very very much.” He tried to sober up, but there was quite a bit of wine in his stomach and not much else.

“ _I love you_ ,” he said instead, in Kemptian. “Not as Damianos does, apparently, but very much.” He led Laurent to the door, smiling to himself as he realized this would be the first time he had left the room in weeks.

“I hope I will come back here soon,” he thought aloud. “And that you will still allow me.”

* * *

Laurent did not so much as blink, let alone blush as Fynn went about his musings. Damen and Laurent’s sex life was the mystery that plagued most of Vere, and now it seemed it would spread to Kempt without clear answers. Laurent was fine with that. Were Fynn in a different type of mood, as they had been when Laurent had first joined him this evening, perhaps he would have fished a few answers out of Laurent, but he would not entertain this as it was now.

He would hold Fynn to his promise when he was sober, test the waters there again when the time was right, but...nothing seemed more important than Fynn’ following declaration.

Laurent stopped himself, setting any frustration, guilt, and anger aside to give Fynn proper attention.

“I do love you,” Laurent said in perfect Kemptian, quoting his mother from years before. “But it is a different kind of love.”

And it was best to keep it at that.

“You will be welcome in Vere and Akielos as you desire.” Laurent believed he had the right to say that, after all. He would be one of its kings, and Damen would be over this by then. All would be well. “I will welcome you personally every time.”

He took Fynn’s hand and began the short trip down the hall. It seemed Fynn was set on escorting Laurent back to his chambers, and he did not mind it. It was time Fynn got out.

“Fynn, listen to me,” Laurent said as they headed out the door and down the hall. “My decision is made, but know you are still my dearest friend, yes? Together, we will bring about what Auguste wanted for Vere. Know that.”

* * *

“A personal welcome? I’ll have to bring my father,” Fynn slurred with a dopey smile. His father was already cross with him for staying at sea as long as he had. The only reason he’d been allowed this trip was to come home betrothed, to take Laurent on a victory tour around Kempt and secure the alliance between their countries for at least a few more decades.

Instead he would come home with nothing but a friendship. Until Vere was united with Akielos, a union wouldn’t do much to assure Kempt of anything, and Laurent could easily turn his back at any time. Only marriage secured bonds.

He shook his head. “Auguste had no mind for deception, Laurent. He would have been a great king, but unaware of the problems here. You,” he said, “will cleanse this place of the rot. Vere will need to change, Akielos too. Much more than ending slavery.”

There was an Akielon guard at the door who was looking at Fynn with distrust and a bit of nervousness, but stepped aside wordlessly. The Veretian guard whose name Fynn had forgotten was smirking just slightly.

Fynn didn’t stumble as he entered Laurent’s bedchamber, nearly identical to the way Fynn had last seen it.

“I heard you’ve yet to strip the King’s chambers,” Fynn said quietly. The warmth was making him feel wine drunk again. “How are we to draw an alliance if Vere’s king does not even claim his rightful apartments?”

He spied a book sitting out on Laurent’s desk and parted from him to read the Akielon script.

“I see why you were so disappointed by tragedy,” Fynn chuckled, lifting the worn book. “It is easier to manage if you think of the characters in their little chitons, and every fight done in the nude.”

* * *

Laurent took the comment to heart, about his ability to see deception. It was one feat Laurent had that Auguste had not, but Auguste had not needed to know it. Laurent practiced it so frequently that it was easy to spot, easy to weasel out. He did not believe it would make him a better king than Auguste would have been, but...he supposed it was his own personal feat.

Upon entering his chambers, Laurent swept his eyes to the bed, the couch, the hearth, searching for signs of Damen. He did not need these two arguing on top of what he had already done to Fynn today. Laurent was excited to tell Damen he had had come clean to Fynn, felt a weight off his shoulders, even if it had been replaced by guilt. He was excited to move on from this, and he did not need Damen’s mood affected.

With no signs of him however, Laurent decided he could entertain Fynn for a few moments more. Lazar would be more than happy to escort Damen into this, but Laurent did not see this as wrong. He wouldn’t.

“The king’s chambers were tainted by my uncle,” Laurent said easily, crossing into the room with Fynn. “It would be easier to burn them than to strip them. Besides, I am quite fond of my own chambers.” He had no need for the spaciousness of the king’s chambers, the larger bed would only be a hassle. “I would take the king’s chambers in Marlas, but I see no need for them yet here in Vere.”

He watched Fynn cross to the book and, honestly, Laurent could not help but chuckle in agreement.

“Yes, a tragedy is more easily swallowed when there are cocks swinging about,” he agreed, though he knew no chiton was short enough for such a thing. In sports, however...

“Did you know they even wrestle in the nude?” Laurent asked, fondly thinking back to his back and forth about it with Damen all that time ago. “They play their sports in the complete nude, and then mock Vere for their public displays of pleasure.”

* * *

“Do I,” Fynn laughed. “You should see them on ships. Naked and grappling like children in the gardens.” It was one reason most people of Kempt couldn’t stomach visits to Akielos—they were simply too prude. Naked men running about would seem an affront to their every value, so they left it up to the rich trade by sea where nobles wouldn’t have to look at them.

“I hope for your sake they’ve never convinced you to join in,” said Fynn, setting the book back down and turning to Laurent. “Vere might very well implode at the sight.”

He didn’t hide his appraisal of Laurent’s body. He was handsome, as finely bred as royalty could be. Hair of spin gold, a sharp jaw, pink lips...

“Will you promise me a personal goodbye, too?” Fynn asked. “Vere does love it’s public displays, after all.”

His eyes hinted at mischief, but Fynn stood in his place, trying not to sway too much.

“My father will love to hear you say you love me,” he chuckled. “I must warn you he will be incessant with his letters once I return, in support of the union, of course.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, a feeling similar to when their ships were about to be attacked, or when an enemy patrol was near. He told himself it was the wine.

Fynn stood from where he had leaned against Laurent’s desk and crossed to him, pressing their foreheads together.

“I should go,” he murmured. Then, quieter, “Before I do something I’ll regret.” But he didn’t yet move.

“A final kiss?” he asked in a breath, his voice quivering just slightly in pain. Once, Auguste had refused him, holding his face but shaking his head. “Before I lose you to him. One last play of our game.”

* * *

Ah, there was the wine.

“Vere already imploded at the sight of me in a chiton. I would not put them at greater risk with my Akielon wrestling,” Laurent assured Fynn with a comfortable set to his body. Laurent was used to being praised by suitors, and he did not mind it coming from Fynn. There was a closure in himself after all, about his feelings towards Fynn, the ones now and those he’d had in his youth. They weren’t meant to be. It was sad, but it was simple. Laurent had no question about it.

“You will get your goodbye, should you ever choose to leave,” Laurent teased, and his exasperation was completely part of the joke. “I will see you off properly. You’ll not need to worry about that.”

Much as it seemed Laurent would not need to worry about his alliance.

“Ah, as needy as Damianos are you, now?” Laurent asked with a knowing tone, bringing back Fynn’s own words to face him. “Always in need of the physical. Have I not given you enough—“

But then Fynn was there, and the joking was over. Laurent felt the change in the air, the sudden pressure, the weight he’d been trying to ignore. His eyes looked up and searched Fynn’s for a moment, leaning into the silence.

And Laurent reached up, touched Fynn’s face, and took a moment, regraded the man before him sadly, realising that this was truly going to be a goodbye.

He knew better to, but he did it. Laurent had kissed so many men with only the deception he knew so well that it only seemed right to give Fynn the goodbye he probably never received from Auguste. It would be a closure for both of them, an end to this.

Perhaps Laurent could, for once, do something his perfect older brother could not.

And it was chaste, quick, simple. Laurent did not draw it out, did not pull Fynn closer, did not chase his lips when he pulled away. It was a proper farewell kiss, and that was all. For their past.

* * *

There was still /something/ between them. Fynn felt it the moment Laurent stopped speaking, the tension between them as it had been that night in the snowstorm. In another life, had he made better decisions, they could have become something. A pair to be reckoned with, combining their kingdoms in a new way, a way that it had been in the golden ages of Vere.

He didn’t expect tears when Laurent touched his face, just as Auguste had. He was back in that field, standing there as the summer light faded and Auguste wanted his women instead. It was an old wound that he had recovered from, but he’d never expected to experience a ghost of it.

Fynn noticed for the second time that Laurent had Auguste’s eyes. He knew he was going to be rejected again, left on his own to wallow in his hurt. “I never—“

And then Laurent kissed him. Fynn’s eyes fell closed, chasing it for just a fraction of a second before it was gone. It wasn’t enough, but it /was/ a goodbye.

The tears finally fell from his eyes, and Fynn was suddenly ashamed of himself, for asking for a kiss, for trying to win a man’s heart who would never love him the same way he loved the man who had killed his brother, and Fynn’s closest friend.

“I should go,” Fynns aid again, quickly. “I—thank you. I’ll—“ He pressed a chaste kiss to Laurent’s forehead and rushed for the door, only stumbling a little on his way out.

Damen could find no words where he sat beside the bed and out of sight. He’d been lying on it in the nude to surprise Laurent, to repay the favor Laurent had done for him, but had hidden himself when he’d heard Fynn, just to hide his nakedness. The nakedness Laurent had just made fun of, along with the list of other things he had said. That Damianos was needy. Always in need of the physical. But worse, Laurent had implied he had given Fynn more than just that kiss, that they were forming an alliance, that he /loved Fynn./

Damen tied his sleeping skirt around his hips as he fumbled to stand, furious and hurt and in horrible pain all at once.

“You are a liar,” he hissed, tears springing to his own eyes. “A filthy liar. Well, this barbarian—this needy barbarian—will be returning to Akielos. You’ll be rid of his nakedness and childish wrestling too.” His heart was breaking, the image of the kiss burned into his vision. “Traitor. You’re a traitor!"

* * *

Fynn exited, and before Laurent could even come to terms with what had happened, he heard it. He did not even start, did not jump or move to turn. Laurent had heard the faintest rustle just across the room, and he knew what it was before he even revealed himself. With a soft exhalation, Laurent set his hands on the desk, steeling himself for this, letting his heart and stomach settle to where they had dropped while he built up his walls.

Of course.

“You were hiding,” Laurent said distinctly, his tone measured, unwavering. Damen had caught him in an act Laurent would have willingly explained, would have told Damen about when they were together. How could he have expected a /king/ to be sneaking around his room, as if waiting for Laurent to do this.

A ‘liar’ he’d just called Laurent, as if he understood what had just happened at all.

A ‘traitor‘.

Laurent set his jaw, gripped the table for a moment, swallowed down the anger that threatened in him, and pushed away from it, setting himself between Damen and the door.

But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t think how to make this right, and he needed a moment he knew Damen would not give him.

* * *

It had been one thing to hear about a kiss, another to watch it. To see another man with Laurent so close, to watch /Laurent/ close the distance between them to hold his face and kiss him goodnight. Damen had trusted Laurent with all he had, and yet he’d been betrayed. It was Jokaste all over again, but so much more painful. So painful his vision was going black, his heart twisting up and wrenching in his body.

“I was waiting to surprise you,” Damen snarled out. “I hid because I’m not Veretian and didn’t want /him/ to see what is only yours.”

His face flushed with embarrassment, especially now that he had heard what Laurent thought about his nakedness. What else had they discussed beyond his neediness, nakedness, and physical desire?

“I thought being made to kiss your boot would be the most humiliating thing to happen to me. Then perhaps breaking the laws of kingsmeet. But /this/, in our own bedchamber—“

He could not speak, he was so hurt.

“Don’t speak to me,” Damen said, tears welling in his eyes as he looked past Laurent to the door. “Don’t you dare speak to me unless you want me to call an end to this union right here and now.”

He wiped his eyes, wishing it wouldn’t be more degrading to grab his clothes and run out like a caught whore.

“I will discuss matters of court and kingdom, but nothing else, or I will end this. If I didn’t love you so stupidly—if I were a stronger man I would leave tonight—you—you—“ He could not find an insult strong enough.

Instead he let out a noise that was a mix of agony and heartbreak and shouldered his way past Laurent and out into the hall, nearly toppling Pallas in his haste.

* * *

And Laurent stood there, jaw set, lips shut tight. It was a threat he would now agitate, Damen ending this union. As much as he wanted to explain, to fight, he knew there was no use in it. Damen did not know he had Laurent’s heart, as Fynn had suggested, so there would be no talking his way out of this. There would be no explaining the jokes, no explaining Auguste and Fynn’s past, no celebrating that the game was over.

When Damen went to leave, Laurent finally did start, if only for a second. He turned, in that last moment, tried to stop Damen, but it was no use. He was shouldered past and Damen was gone, out the door, visibly and viscerally hurt in a way Laurent would never show of himself.

He supposed he had no right to even feel such a way.

So Laurent cleared his throat, and in a show of absolute resolve, he began to calmly undress, piece by piece, so that he might prepare for bed. There was no audience, no reason for him to stay his shaking hands, to swallow down the lump threatening at his throat, but he did it. Laurent remained collected until he was fully undressed, and then he pulled on his bed shirt with an equally steady hand. His eyes unfocused when he was dressed again, he steadied himself on the desk when he swayed.

And then he picked up the nearest object he could find and violently hurled it across the room.

The ink pot splattered its contents everywhere - over the walls, the window, the top of his fine couch, the pillows and papers atop it. He shouted his frustration so loudly that it was not a moment later before Lazar knocked on the door, poked his head in.

“Your majesty?” He asked, merely doing his duty, but Laurent did not take kindly to it at all.

“Get /out/!” Laurent demanded in such a tone, it actually made Lazar jump, and he shut the door in a hurry, his gaze on Pallas, whose smirk from before was well and truly gone.


	17. Part I: Disintegration (30.8.20)

Damen was just as methodical. He returned to his room and tore off his skirt, his blood hot with anger. He would show Fynn exactly what it felt like to wrestle an Akielon king. He donned a chiton and momentarily considered removing his cuff, but decided against it only because it would take too much time. He laced up his sandals as quickly as he did for battle.

He paused briefly with a hand over his knife, but thought better of it. They could not start a war with Kempt over a dead duke. That would mean a victory for the new alliance Fynn and Laurent were planning. Fynn would become their rallying cry and Laurent would easily be able to turn Vere against their temporary allies.

Laurent’s shouting was so loud that Damen could hear it from his doorway. He strode down the hall to where Pallas was pale-faced and staring at Lazar, who looked like he’d just been run through with a sword.

Unfortunately for Fynn, the sound brought him from his room and into the hall right as Damen closed in.

“What is—“

Fynn only had time to widen his eyes before Damen slugged him. The punch sent Fynn soaring to his left and straight into the stone floor.

“Damianos—“

Damen grabbed him by the throat and hauled him up. Blood streamed from his cheek and brow, but Damen didn’t care.

“Laurent!” Pallas called, no longer bothering with titles. Only one man could hope to stop Damianos from inciting war. “/Laurent!/”

Damen punched Fynn again, then let him slump to the floor, spitting blood. He crumpled, scrambling for anything he could use to defend himself, but blood was running into both eyes.

“Please,” Fynn pleaded. “There’s been a mistake—“

“No,” Damen growled. “The only mistake was letting you inside these walls.”

* * *

There were all of two people in the palace at the moment who had the right to call Laurent by his name. So when it was neither Damen nor Fynn’s voice that he heard calling for him, Laurent turned from where he’d been standing at the desk towards the door, listening.

By the time it was called the second time, Laurent was already rushing towards the door, having heard the dull sound of a fist fight, the sound of struggle.

His bare foot slipped on small puddle of blood on stone, but Laurent caught himself, taking only a moment to survey what was happening before it was all truly realised.

It was horrific, and the implications made it all the worse.

Laurent was no physical match for Damen - it had been made abundantly clear many times before - but Laurent’s presence alone would not stop him, and it was not as if any guards were jumping to take down their king. So Laurent had to be the one to get in there, knew he had a better chance than anyone else standing in this circle, knew if any of the Kemptian guards caught wind, they could very much have a war in their hands.

So, Laurent went in, taking what he had learned from Nik and doing his absolute best to wrangle Damen in an upright position, but either Damen did not know it was Laurent trying to hold him back, or he did not care, because he kept going for Fynn, in an absolute rage that Laurent knew was in him, but had not seen since...the kingsmeet.

“Damianos!” Laurent blustered, scrabbling at Damen’s arm as he landed another blow on Fynn. His neck or his shoulder as Fynn tried to defend himself.

“Damen—“ Laurent struggled, grabbing hold of Damen’s chin then, trying to force his head around to just /look/ at him—

And Damen hit him.

It was a backhand meant to only knock him back, but it ended withan odd angle of the gold cuff colliding with Laurent’s cheekbone. It struck the skin, broke it just under his eye, and it admittedly stunned Laurent. He just stood there for a moment, breathing heavily as the heat ran to the thrashed skin, his gaze settling hard and hateful on Damen.

* * *

Fynn wasn’t going to make it after a few more punches. He couldn’t see, and everything hurt far worse than any fight he’d ever been in before. His body was simply too weak from sickness to put up any sort of fight. Another blow landed to his shoulder and Fynn simply went limp, the same way he’d been taught to do if attacked by a bear.

Damen was crying. He couldn’t see through the tears that were made of both rage and and pain, and Laurent grabbing him made no difference. He couldn’t even feel Laurent’s arms, nor the shift in his center of balance because there wasn’t one.

He registered someone grabbing his chin and in his rage his mind told him that it was somehow Fynn. He threw a hand back, but the moment he felt the impact, he knew who he had hit.

Damen turned at once, his rage momentarily shorted out. Laurent stood there with his cheek bleeding, and for a span of time Damen felt real terror because the man staring at him was the one who had flogged him half to death, not the one he loved.

“Laurent,” he croaked, looking from his hand back to his betrothed.

Jord took his chance. He hadn’t been far off, and the commotion had drawn him from where he had been eating before taking his shift.

The cold steel of his sword came to rest against Damen’s neck. Pallas drew his weapon, but Damen stilled him with a look.

“Laurent,” Fynn sputtered, reaching out blindly. “Laurent! Are you hurt?”

“He’s seen worse,” Jord said, but his gaze was intent on Laurent, waiting to be told what to do.

“Jord,” Lazar warned, stepping forward cautiously.

Damen settled and cooled his gaze. Once again, he was being held as a threat in Vere. Guilt didn’t move in him, not yet. He was too angry, and he knew Laurent would be fine.

“Help your lover,” he said in a broken voice. “Tell him how much you love him. I’m sure your guardS would love to hear it. What relief that your Akielon dog no longer has your—“

Jord pressed his sword to Damen’s neck a little harder so that a small trickle of blood began to leak from his neck.

“Jord,” Pallas hissed, stepping closer.

Lazar simply stared. Laurent was an absolute bitch, but surely he wasn’t stupid enough to share a bed with the /duke./

* * *

Blood was rushing to Laurent’s head - not at all from the minor wound, but because of the anger, the stress, the hurt, the /guilt/ - both of what he’d done to Damen and now to Fynn. Again.

It was also just a /lot/ to take in. Damen on the ground, knelt in another man’s blood, with a blade at his neck. Laurent’s guard. Because he was a king, just as Damen was, but...Damen had hit /him/, which was, in this case, a punishable act. Of course, Jord was now holding a sword to another king’s neck, which could then be punishable by the Akielon guards.

It was very messy, and Laurent could feel them teetering on uneasy ground.

But his eyes were still focused on Damen, spiteful and awful.

And Damen was /still/ spitting such foul accusations. This was not a fair fight that he’d had against Fynn, and he should know better than to go in for another in a battle of words against Laurent.

Jord did the right thing by silencing Damen.

All eyes were on Laurent then, who was still standing there, still and silent. The blood from his cheek had pooled in the cut and begun to roll down to his chin. It was the only other movement in the hall.

“Drop your weapon,” Laurent ordered. “Take Damianos to our chambers. The Herzog to his. Call for Paschal.” Laurent’s eyes only moved from Damen’s for a moment and he met Lazar’s gaze, defiant and uncertain, and Laurent barked, “Now!”

It got them all moving.

“Let Pallas handle his king,” Laurent told Jord as the clean up commotion grew. Jord nodded to Pallas tensely, backed away, and sheathed his sword, but only after Fynn had been removed from in front of Damen by Lazar. He made his way to Laurent, moved to wipe the blood from his cheek, but Laurent stopped him, ordered him to help with Fynn.

“Your Majesty—“ Jord began, knowing he should be at his king’s side should this happen again, but Laurent dismissed him without a glance, his eyes back on Damen.

Damen’s chiton was stained by Fynn’s blood, and when Laurent moved, he left footprints of that same blood on the stone.

“Move him, Pallas,” Laurent grit, his youth fading under hard lines and ire.

* * *

Pallas didn’t move right away. He wasn’t to be ordered by Laurent, because Laurent was not his commander. Even so, he knew that not moving might be worse. Damen was in a state Pallas had never seen, and it was not over. Fire still burned in Damen’s eyes, merely waiting for a spark to set him aflame again. Everyone would burn if that happened. Even Laurent didn’t seem safe, and Pallas had /never/ felt that Laurent was in danger ever since he’d learned the truth of their relationship.

Damen stared defiantly back at Laurent, not yet rising. Pallas was motionless beside him, waiting for some sort of command to come from Damen.

Paschal came running down the hall, shocked into stillness by the sight of Damen covered in blood but was quickly called by Lazar instead.

“What—?” The door to Fynn’s chamber was shut before Paschal could finish his sentence.

Damen slowly got to his feet, his knuckles throbbing from the punches, but in a good way. He walked himself to their chambers, flanked by Pallas, who kept a hand on his sword hilt all the while.

“Would you like me to strip?” Damen asked coldly over his shoulder once he reached the door. “You may as well put my in your collar and chains, seeing as I am still just a pet to you. Coward.”

Laurent was a coward. He was a coward who hid behind lies and deceit, who had taken another lover and lied about it.

Who Damen had struck and made to bleed.

He tried to ignore the last part, and instead focused on deciphering what game Laurent was going to play with him now.

* * *

“You are no longer needed,” Laurent said to Pallas, not ordering him to leave, but giving him the option to do so. Laurent was, of course, not his commander, and Pallas had every reason to believe his king was in danger by Laurent’s look alone and was welcome to say.

Especially because the very moment the door closed, Laurent was right in Damen’s face. He had Damen by the back of the hair, yanked him down in a way that once would have been for a kiss, but for now was just a tactic to pull him /down/.

Laurent was, at his core, scared. If Fynn desired it, this could be war between Akielos and Kempt, and their little game could end up on a decision of who Vere would aid. Damen also had not had this fury towards Laurent in some time, and facing it again when he did not feel safe was jarring.

Laurent was also /hurt/. He deserved an argument for that farewell kiss, but /this/? A liar, a traitor, a coward? The blow to his face was an errant mistake, but these accusations stung.

But of course, Laurent did not manifest those emotions to the world. They were weakness. Anger was power.

“Look at me,” Laurent hissed, squeezing Damen’s face hard, daring Pallas to come between them now. “Do you have /any/ idea what you have just done? /Do you/?” Laurent’s eyes were bordering on wild, and where the hand holding Damen was still, his other hand shook right along with his voice.

“This will rot you from the inside out, do you hear me? This is /too much/, Damianos. It was a /kiss/! You are trying to start a war with /two/ countries over a /kiss/!”

* * *

Damen didn’t care what he had done. If he had to lead Akielos into battle over this, so be it. He could leverage their connections in Patras and likely Vask, and destroy Kempt’s much smaller armies. But he knew Fynn wouldn’t incite war unless Laurent told him to. Their budding relationship was simply too important to him.

He thought Laurent was going for a kiss, and Damen reared his head back to avoid it. Laurent’s fingers dig into his hair, but Damen wasn’t about to kiss this traitor. A lying cheat.

So Damen flares back, unperturbed by the look in Laurent’s eyes. He was a king now, not a bedslave. And he didn’t care if Laurent got angry or hated him or fell out of love with him because he /clearly/ had no care for Damen’s love for him.

“That,” he snarled, “is what you said last time. I agreed to the game, not to you telling him you love him, making plans with his father, /personal goodbyes!/“ his voice kept getting louder, and Pallas was frozen in place behind him, too frightened to move and possibly get both furious kings to turn on him.

“I hope you are confident in your new alliance, seeing as you are willing to throw ours away for it!”

He pulled back hard, slapping Laurent’s hand away from his face. His jaw ached where Laurent’s fingers had dug in, and his scalp burned.

“You are a fool if you think just a /kiss/ has caused this. Or perhaps you really do think me a needy animal—you abused my trust. You stomped on it—“ He realized his tears were still leaking down his cheeks.

“How could you?” he choked out. “I will not forgive you. As long as I live, I will not forgive you. I can’t even /look/ at you—“

He turned his head away. Pallas took his chance and bolted for the door, slipping back into the hall. Damen have a dismissive wave.

“Go and see your lover. I’m fully aware of what I have chosen.”

* * *

“You can’t /look/ at /me/?” Laurent hissed, watching Damen walk away from him. “/I/ am throwing an alliance away? Damianos, look at you!”

Laurent advanced on him again, not willing to let up on this, and this time, he grabbed him by the wrist, just above his cuff. It wasn’t an easy hold, as it was not the thinnest part of Damen’s arm, but Laurent held hard, able to resist a few yanks if necessary.

He was having a difficult time finding words for this, for Damen in this fight. He didn’t /want/ to tear him apart, didn’t /want/ to push Damen away, because he loved him, but he could not defend this. He did not know who this was.

And Laurent knew he had been wrong. But it was something he could have explained! It was something they could have talked over. Laurent could have explained what was sarcasm, could have explained what he and Fynn had shared—

“I told him everything,” Laurent went on to Damen. “I told him this was over, this /game/. I told him I had chosen /you/, that I loved /you/! And you—“

Laurent still could not fully fathom what had just happened.

“Have you ever known me?” Laurent asked then, “Or have you only ever accepted an idea of me, Damianos?”

He’d told Damen everything about himself. They had seen each other at their best and their worst. They knew every strength and every weakness of each other. Perhaps they had merely been working to make the best adversaries possible out of each other, and not the best lovers all along.

* * *

Damen had to think of his country, Laurent was right about that. Akielos would have benefitted from Vere as a partner, but what use would that be if he couldn’t trust the man he was supposed to rule with? He could make an alliance with Vask, produce heirs and have a loveless political marriage with the Empress’s daughter.

“Do not turn this on me,” Damen snapped, wrenching his arm. Laurent remained latched to his wrist. “Your lies mean nothing now. I heard with my own ears. I saw with my own eyes that you held his face and kissed him—how dare you try to make this into my problem to solve.”

He looked back at Laurent then, hate in his eyes. “I thought I knew you,” he said. “But I thought I knew Jokaste too. It turns out I am just as foolish as I was then.”

He wrested his arm again, trying to pull free.

“Let go of me! Your words are worthless now, no matter how scathing. If you truly loved me, you would never have kissed him the first time, let alone the second. Or was that even the second? How am I supposed to trust anything that you’ve told me now? You are a /liar/.”

He didn’t see how he was to remain in Vere any longer.

“I will call my men and we’ll depart in the morning back to Akielos. If we die in the snow, that is on your head,” he decided. “Fynn won’t war us unless you want to. And if you do, I will be ready. You know already that you will lose.”

Vere was in no place to fight. Akielos had more than enough power to strike, and now they had intimate knowledge of Vere to their advantage.

“You aren’t even sorry,” Damen spat. “You are merely angry at yourself for being caught, you /snake/.”

* * *

A liar, a traitor, a coward, and now, a snake. Laurent had been called it all a thousand times before, and though it now came from Damen, it still could not affect Laurent. This was what he knew, after all, and perhaps he had always deserved the insults. He would not allow it to push his surrender. It did not hurt like all the hate around it did.

“You do not know me,” Laurent reminded Damen, “You cannot know how I feel about this.” It wasn’t like he was giving Damen anything to go off of, but Damen should know. He should.

But Damen was unreasonable right now.

And Laurent had to put his own fight aside, had to think of what had just happened from the perspective of a king...and, even still, a lover.

Without proper preparation, Damen’s men would die. They needed to gather provisions, needed to chart the route through the snow, needed a /plan/.

Not to mention, Laurent could not trust Damen at this point, either. He had attacked a Kemptian Noble in plain sight over what? Over /Laurent/? Damen could not be allowed to do as he pleased right now.

So, Laurent grabbed the chain attached to his bed, once meant for the use of keeping pleasure slaves around, and he chained Damen by his cuff. What was another nail in his own coffin now?

“You are a /king/, Damianos!” Laurent seethed, stepping back now that Damen was chained. It would hold him. Their cuffs would not be broken without a blacksmith, and that chain had been placed with the intention of keeping someone in place. Damen was strong, especially in this mood, but Laurent had the confidence. In that chain if in nothing else. “Act like it!”

* * *

“It doesn’t matter,” Damen said, his voice dripping with venom. “I saw and heard. I don’t need to know anything else beyond that.” Laurent could not convince him otherwise, because he had no truth to stand on. Damen had been witness to his cheating, to what Laurent truly wanted. To think he had trusted him to be in love with him, after already admitting to—

Suddenly there was a chain at his cuff. No greater insult could have come from Laurent’s mouth. Damen /seethed/. He yanked with all of his might, nearly wrenching his arm out of its socket with the force of his pull. It was no use. Laurent was holding him prisoner, just as he had at the beginning of all of this.

“You don’t want a king,” Damen said with disgust. “You want someone who will blindly worship your crown and wit. You’ve always wanted me as a slave. Who wants war now, Laurent? Was this your plan all along, or just once I had secured our crown and marriage?”

He yanked at the chain again, straining against its hitch.

“Unchain me,” Damen demanded. “Or lose my love forever.”

He knew Laurent didn’t want it. He knew now that Laurent only appeased his “neediness” for his own gain. He had only ever wanted Damen as his puppet ever since he had discovered that removing his clothing would get him whatever he wanted.

“Auguste would be proud,” he added genuinely. “What a masterful trick you have pulled.”

* * *

That time, Laurent hit Damen.

He slapped Damen clean across the face, purposefully and with all he could muster behind an open palm.

“You do not get to use his name like that,” Laurent spat, now right in Damen’s face, holding it again, hardly an inch from Damen’s already red face.

Laurent was not so certain there was any coming back from this, from what they were right now. And it gutted him. It really did. He wished he could cry, wished he could show some humanity here, but what would be the point? To give Damen another of his weaknesses to exploit?

Damen was not that kind of person.

He was not /this/ person.

And Laurent warred with the idea of freeing him. If there was any coming back from this, Laurent wanted it. He did. He wanted to talk it out, wanted to discuss this like /people/! He didn’t want to risk everything over one act—

But he stood by what he did.

He threw Damen’s head to the side and stood, took a few steps back and just stared down at him.

He hated seeing Damen like this, hated everything he was doing here, but...it would work. And Laurent knew that. If nothing else, it would move the anger to him and not to Fynn. If nothing else, it would slow Damen down from doing something /else/ reckless.

It was decided.

* * *

The slap was expected. Damen blinked are the impact, but kept his gaze level when Laurent got in his face. He was tempted to spit, just to remind him that he was no slave. This was what Laurent wanted, after all. He wanted his unruly pleasure slave. Laurent had made his decision.

Damen shoved past him and crawled into bed, daring Laurent to follow. He curled up at the end, like a proper pet, stewing in his rage. He stared at the chest where the rod and chain still sat, and plotted. Some part of him—perhaps a foolish part—knew that being chained was stopping him from murder and further ruining what he had already destroyed.

“You might as well go and fuck him,” Damen said, still staring ahead. “I hope he’s worth it.”

He never expecting things to end so spectacularly.

His exhaustion finally caught up to him, stealing him away from the palace, his fists still red with Fynn’s blood.

Fynn wasn’t as bad as Paschal had expected. Both of his eyes were cut and blackened, and his jaw had swelled considerably. His throat was red and swollen, his shoulder bruised. But other than some labored breathing and an intense headache, he was in no real danger. But it was not lost on him that things could have been much worse.

Damen woke with the sun to find Pallas standing at the end of the bed, looking haggard.

“Where’s Laurent,” Damen coughed, his throat dry from yelling.

Pallas shifted uncomfortably and didn’t answer. Instead he produced a key and freed him.

“I didn’t know what to do,“ Pallas said.

Damen sat up and turned his cuff around his wrist. Once more, he almost took it off and left it for Laurent to find, but he couldn’t. Because he loved Laurent, even now. He would never admit it, not ever, but Laurent had made the right choice in restraining him.

“Who knows what happened last night?” he asked.

“Only those who were there, and perhaps a few guards from Kempt.”

“And Fynn?”

“Alive. Injured, but not seriously. He has supposedly told his guard that he thought to play a trick on you and it backfired.”

Damen snorted, anger and pain flaring in him.

“He claims it was deserved, that he accidentally made it appear as though he meant harm,” Pallas continued quietly. “Leopold checked you, he did not see injury beyond bruising.”

Laurent was with Fynn. Damen knew it in his bones. He touched his face and felt the bruises Laurent’s fingers had left on his jaw.

“And Laurent?”

“Fine.” Pallas gave no more information, further confirming Damen’s thoughts.

“Find a suitable gift for Fynn,” Damen said. “As an apology. Make sure the court sees that it is done. And then send someone to find flowers—or some kind of appropriate greenery to rest at Auguste’s statue in the gardens. Brush the snow from it.”

He should not have brought Auguste into this, but he couldn’t look at Laurent right now. He would see the statue before lunch, Damen was almost certain.

“You and I will head to the training ring, then we will take the men to the fields for drills,” Damen continued, standing. He brushed off his chiton. “I want every man /discreetly/ informed that Laurent is not to enter my chambers, nor be in my company unless explicitly requested by my own mouth. His words no longer have any weight with me, nor should they with the men behind what is appropriate for his rank. Same for Fynn.”

Pallas nodded once. “Yes, Exalted.”

Damen looked at him then, his eyes deadly. “And if I find out that you are sharing anything with Lazar concerning my whereabouts, thoughts, or feelings, I will turn you off.”

Pallas paled, but nodded.

Damen cleared his throat. “Go.”

* * *

Laurent did not go to /fuck/ Fynn. That was so drastically far from his interests, but it seemed Damen did not care to know that. Laurent did go to check on him, however, chin up, back straight, hands still and clasped behind his back. The moment he entered, Jord approached him again, keeping him back from Paschal and the others tending to Fynn.

“Your face,” Jord started, coming right at his face with a rag. Laurent had been through worse, but there was no sense in having his king with blood on his face. Jord’s first glimpse into something being terribly wrong was that Laurent /allowed/ his face to be touched, to be cleansed for him. Jord worked quickly all the same, not trusting being so close to Laurent at a time like this.

“Who knows?” Laurent asked, focus dead in a wall across the way.

“Only those who were present,” Jord told him confidently. “We are working with the Akielon and Kemptian guard now to keep quiet until you and the King of Akielos can come to an agreement on what-“

“How is he?” Laurent demanded of someone not a moment later, and Jord could see the flick of life and anger right back in Laurent’s eyes. It seemed Laurent had no interest in talking about Damen. Jord had stepped back at just the right time.

“We are treating the swelling,” Paschal assured him, holding a wet cloth to Fynn’s jaw. “Nothing seems to be broken.”

Laurent should have left with that, should have heeded back to his own chambers, or even to the abandoned chambers Damen had left, but he could not fathom being alone right now. Much like restraining Damen, Laurent knew he needed to restrain himself, and being surrounded by enough people to force his stillness was what was best for him.

He found a chair, took a seat, and started watching those working around Fynn. Jord kept a watchful eye on him, and after just a few moments, it was easy enough to decipher what Laurent was truly masking. Jord knew the feeling well, could sense it and empathise with it instantly.

Loss.

Laurent was experiencing loss by someone /he/ had driven away.

Laurent awoke stiff, his back aching, as he had fallen asleep in that viewing chair in the corner of Fynn’s room. Laurent could not say if he’d been out for hours or minutes, for there was still movement in the room, mostly from the people who had been there when he must have fall when asleep.

Paschal was nearby, sleeping in a chair as well, much closer to the bed. Where Veretian guards had left, Kemptian guards had taken their place, leaving the room crowded. But Fynn slept on, and Laurent slipped out.

He was in pain - pain outside of what sleeping in a chair could do. Laurent felt like he was suffocating, felt like there was a hand inside of his stomach, parting his ribs, and squeezing at his heart. He felt ill beneath his cool exterior, felt the need to claw and cut and scratch and just force his way out of what had happened, but he had no such luck.

There were no guards at his own chamber doors, but Pallas was stationed at Damen’s door. Laurent approached, nodding at Pallas to be let in, to just...talk this over and see what this meant for his future with Damen.

But Pallas did not budge.

“Step aside,” Laurent tried without /any/ power behind his voice. He was so tired, so shaken, and he was putting all he could into his usual act of ennui.

“Pallas, /move/,” Laurent tried again, but Pallas shook his head.

“Apologies, your majesty,” he said, and Laurent could hear the uneasiness in his voice. “The Exalted, King of Akielos, is preparing for the day. He has requested no visitors.”

“You will tell him—“ Laurent started, but Pallas turned his eyes to the roof and said again:

“No visitors.”

No Laurent.

The pain in his chest fell to the cold. Laurent felt suddenly very empty, hollow, for he knew what this was.

“If you so much as /stand/ near Lazar, I will have him flogged,” Laurent murmured to Pallas emptily before he turned his back and headed to his own chambers to start his preparations for the day. He imagined he had his own chaos control to do. It was imperative Laurent kept himself busy now, or no one would be safe. Including himself.

* * *

Damen emerged from his chambers some time later, dressed in Akielon clothing suitable for the ring. He discussed whom they would add to the guard shifts at his chamber with Pallas, who looked just as uncomfortable as he had the night before. Damen knew his concern was Lazar, but there was nothing Damen could do about whatever Laurent would decide for him. If Laurent was smart, nothing would change. But Laurent was a fool, so perhaps he would do something foolish.

He met a few of his top men at the arena while Pallas communicated his other orders. Damen made sure that guards were posted at the entrances to prevent any visitors, and only then did he relax into his training. No one said anything about the bruising, and Damen didn’t offer any stories.

Without Laurent’s presence, he could ignore the pain in his heart and mend it with hard work. He hadn’t trained hard in some time, and being amongst only his own people was refreshing. When it came time to practice wrestling, Damen felt no shame in stripping.

Then came drills. Damen worked his men hard, and was pleased to find that they were adjusting to the cold and snow as he was. Sucking in freezing air was a nice salve to his aching heart.

When it was time for lunch, he invited Solas, son of the Kyros of Sicyon, to accompany him. His skin was dark from sun even after spending some weeks in Vere’s harsh winter. He was twenty, young and fierce, but fluent in Veretian. Pallas said he was best suited for entertaining court.

He was. Solas charmed the aristocrats with his stories of home, and made fun of himself and his introductions to Veretian culture, especially that of Arles—all before the main course.

Damen sat back in his throne with an easy smile, pleasantly tired from hard training and sporting a much-needed cut to his dark curls. His hair had been cut to be as he usually wore it, but a bit shorter on the sides, a trend Nikandros had introduced him to in Ios before his departure.

Solas also allowed Damen to sit several seats away from Laurent, and so long as he lounged, he would not even have to look at him.

Fynn was the first to address Damen directly, by raising a toast to thank him for the knife he had been given. It was made with white gold and encrusted with teardrop rubies surrounded by gold stars.

What Fynn didn’t know was that the rubies were a last minute addition by Akielos’ most talented jeweler in their company, who had been waiting for such a task after learning from the Veretians and their technique. The rubies were from the earring Laurent had gifted him when he had first arrived in Arles for this trip.

“A gift I do not deserve,” Fynn closed after they drank. “I have paid dearly for my foolishness.”

Damen shook his head with a smile, but his eyes were full of hate. “An accident,” he dismissed. “And a gift long overdue.”

Then he turned back to his roasted lamb and spoke of it no further.

* * *

Laurent had thought the flowers to Auguste’s statue would have meant something. He saw them, of course, after banishing every last soul from the gardens so he could have them to himself. That kicked up rumours of course, people putting the idea of Laurent doing something lewd with his brother’s likeness over him going there to just be a human for a moment, but was that not just Vere?

He laid eyes on the flowers and thought that, perhaps, it was a sign - a sign as the snowflakes had been. A sign that maybe Damen and he would be able to talk this out—

But Laurent should have known better.

He was there when Fynn received the knife. He’d just been checking up on Fynn, starting more rumours when the herald had brought it forward. Of course, Laurent recognised the rubies at once. They were not easily found in Arles, and no ruby was cut the same. Laurent knew those rubies, and he could not stay in the room.

When dinner came around, Laurent was quite late - which kicked off a new slew of rumours. Some of those quelled when Fynn showed up before Laurent, but there was still the question of the lack of the Veretian king—

And the Akielon man the Akielon king had suddenly placed by his side.

Laurent didn’t help himself with the rumours, sitting there with a face that radiated cool ire - a face too many Veretians were acquainted with, and had not seen for a while. He only showed up to dinner because he would not be able to stop the wildfire of words had he not.

And Damen had cut his hair. Laurent wondered if that was his fault from the way he had grabbed it, and that made his stomach turn even more.

“Your Majesty,” Councillor Mathe spoke up so boldly, calling Laurent’s attention - and murderous gaze - on him. Mathe looked smug, and Laurent was a breath away from castrating him as well. “We received your decreed decision on the matter of courting.”

It was the one thing Laurent had done today, and yes, perhaps it was a petty move. Should Damen leave him now, it would be seen as his decision, and therefore Akielos’ act to rescind their offer of courtship, and an alliance.

It was all Laurent had.

“We look forward to our union with our once long-sworn enemies. And we do hope our Herzog of Kempt has no ill will towards the decision?”

Laurent didn’t even look up from his plate - which he had not touched at all.

* * *

For once, Damen loved the festering rumors. He loved to hear that Veretians were aware of something wrong, and many had noticed that Damen, Fynn, and Laurent all had marks on their faces. Few comments were made about Laurent, so Damen assumed his wounds were minimal. Guilt ate at him for having struck Laurent, but he had to put it aside, for his kingdom.

His kingdom that was now formally sworn to Laurent. The competition ended, though many Veretians knew the truth as Damen did: Laurent merely wanted the political gains of a partnership with Akielos, but it was Fynn who he wanted in his bed.

Fynn smiled with a split lip. “Of course not. His Majesty and the Exalted are some of my closest friends, I should like very much to urge Kempt to support the union wholeheartedly.”

“I bet Damianos caught him in the king’s bed,” an aristocrat whispered.. “To think Laurent is such a—“

“Akielos looks forward to the partnership with Kempt,” Damen said cheerfully, lying through his teeth.

Fynn gently nudged Laurent’s foot under the table. He knew better than to touch him with so many eyes watching, but he did wish he could offer some physical support.

Damen had not heard Laurent’s decree when it was made. He’d only heard just moments before lunch from Pallas. He saw the political play Laurent was making, and hadn’t yet decided if he was pulling out of the arrangement. His father had always taught him to take time with things of great importance—especially marriage.

He ate his food and drank his wine, keeping his gaze away from Laurent as he did so. He made small talk with nobles and avoided any talk of his future husband. Potential future husband.

“Solas and I must return to our duties,” Damen announced when he was finished eating. He stood, and the table stood with him. “We will see you all at dinner. Dracus will also be attending—his family is quite well known for the spun gold in our royal clothing. Even more so for their gems.”

With that, he took his leave.

“Laurent,” Fynn said quietly. “We should go for a ride. Perhaps a hunt, I’ve heard of a badger near the farmlands to the East. They’re a tricky creature, a good distraction for the mind.”

He felt horrific for what he had done. His battered face was nothing compared to what he deserved for causing Laurent so much pain.

“Will we expect a formal decree from Damianos in return?” Mathe said with a wide smile. “Sometime soon? This union comes at great expense, as you well know.”

* * *

Laurent did not rise with the others when Damen took his leave - he was not required to do so. He sat quietly, hand holding his fork which still had not moved from where it rested. He had no appetite for obvious reasons, but he would not allow himself to starve, would it make himself ill over this. He would eat at dinner. But he could not stomach it now.

He ignored Fynn when he spoke, did not even acknowledge the touch. Fynn had, technically, done nothing wrong, but Laurent couldn’t face him in front of his people right now.

At first, he’d been frigid - his people had called him so many variations of it he word - and now, with the same sureness, they called him a whore. It made sense, of course, with his past. They whispered about his relationship with Auguste, bolder people questioned what they’d heard from the trial about Laurent and his uncle. All because he had kissed another man. Kissed him /goodbye/.

And he’d lost it all. He’d lost his own game.

“Damianos is very busy,” Laurent did force out to Mathe's questioning as he rose from the table. “The Akielons will see his decree before your council, Mathe. Certainly you are aware of how this works.”

Laurent left.

He followed after where he’d seen Damen go, his boots clicking on the stone floor. They at least needed to be seen together, needed to quell a few rumours of unrest. It was necessary.

And Laurent kept himself proud and upright as he chased Damen down, moved through the halls at what speed he could without looking like a pitiful dog chasing its master.

But Vere was a maze of hallways for a tactical reason, and Damen had the advantage of leaving moments before Laurent.

“Damianos,” Laurent asked of a passing Akielon guard—

But the guard just...kept on walking. As if he’d not heard Laurent at all.

So Laurent took the path that led outside, unwilling to ask again for fear of looking desperate. This was something he could and would handle himself. He would speak with Damen.

* * *

Solas boasted about his lunch with royalty, which took attention off of Damen when they arrived back at the camp the Akielons has settled in. Camp was perhaps too loose of a word, there were small buildings that had been taken over and essentially a small town of Akielons had taken up residence in the guest quarters of Arles. It smelled of Akielon dishes and all of the sounds were familiar, except here they were surrounded by snow instead of sand. Damen headed into the residence of the highest ranking soldier in their company by the name of Crassus, a gruff man with a kind heart. He led independently, but never hesitated to give back power when Damianos returned.

“Is that—?” Damen heard a soldier begin to ask a question only to cut himself off.

“He has no guard, what’s he standing there for?” another soldier asked.

Damen pressed himself to the door of his makeshift residence, willing himself not to look outside. Away from the eyes of his men, he deflated, his smile drained to nothing and his heart as heavy as lead in his chest.

“Your Majesty,” Pallas greeted Laurent from where he stood sharpening his short blade. “Do you need an escort back to...wherever you’re supposed to be?”

His presence was a dead giveaway to Damen’s whereabouts, but Pallas had his orders.

* * *

Pallas was a familiar face, but that did not make Laurent feel any more at ease. He was used to feeling unwelcome in his own kingdom, but this was something else entirely, and Laurent knew well before he approached that Pallas would be of no help.

“Wherever I am /supposed/ to be,” Laurent repeated emptily, his eyes scanning over the Akielon men, the guards, milling about their safe place - a place Laurent would have been welcomed in just yesterday. “Is that not here? In my own kingdom? With my betrothed? Discussing our future?”

His eyes settled back on Pallas, and where had once been an emptiness, there was now a /dare/. A dare for Pallas to turn him away, a dare for him to deny even addressing Damen about this.

Because he knew Damen was in there, deliberately hiding from him. As he had before.

And he’d called Laurent the coward.

* * *

Pallas sighed. Damen didn’t want to be disturbed, but the whole camp was staring at Laurent and his blond little head. There would be no escaping the fact that Vere’s king was waiting on the man he was supposed to marry. What they didn’t know was that Damianos was reconsidering the entire Union, and any mention of the marriage was ignored or brought forth ire from the Akielon king.

Thankfully, he didn’t need to make a decision because Damen emerged. For a moment he was visible as his true self, alone and broken. But he pulled up his own mask of strength and charm when he waved to passing soldiers and adjusted his vambraces. He pretended to be surprised to see Laurent, but even Pallas fought not to shake his head.

“Your Majesty,” Damen greeted with a smile and a dip of his head. “What do I owe the pleasure?”

A small crowd of men were lingering, watching the exchange closely. They all knew Damianos had no desire to see Laurent at all.

“I’m afraid I‘ve promised to lead a few parties out of the kingdom to visit a few villages,” Damen said, motioning for an attendant to bring his horse. “Crassus is here and more than happy to supply Akielon men should you need them.”

Nikri was brought from his stall already tacked, and Damen swung up into the saddle with ease.

“Can this wait until dinner? Surely nothing is burning down your kingdom.”

/Your/ kingdom.

* * *

“You hardly know the villages to show them,” Laurent responded, not playing at falsehoods, but no one would be able to tell the difference. “It sounds as if that were a task we should have done together.”

Nikri came forth, and there was no denying the mount had a draw towards Laurent. He opened his hands in greeting as the horse bumped them, looking for the usual sugar or apple that Laurent might offer. It was a surprisingly small comfort, and Laurent took a moment with Nikri, soft for only a moment that he /knew/ Damen hated.

But Laurent could not sent how empty the moment felt. He could feel Damen looking down on him with nothing but disdain, and it was terrible. Laurent could not even look up at him.

It had been a day, and he hardly looked like the Damen Laurent knew. The warrior's haircut, the lines of false cheer unable to mask the worry lines in him, the coldness Laurent never thought would radiate from Damen.

Nikri nudged Laurent again, and he obliged with a few more seconds of attention.

* * *

Damen tried to hide his resentment for the way Nikri was acting. Laurent was undeserving of such kindness from him, and he wished there was a way to tell Nikri that Laurent was the reason he wouldn’t be riding with Ven anytime soon, perhaps never again.

“I have been out on patrols while you’ve been wrapping up the competition with the Herzog,” Damen said evenly, but Laurent would surely hear the malice in it. “I know the places most important to show them.”

It was hard to look at him, but Damen made himself do it, just to remind himself what had occurred. Salacious rumors were abound, but Damen didn’t need to listen to any of them. He knew Laurent was no whore, that he had not been “broken in” to the the idea of sex for pleasure as some claimed. He was just a liar, a man in love with someone else and plotting an alliance to betray him, despite what his stupid decree had said.

“Well,” Damen said, gathering his rein to tug Nikri away from Laurent. “Seeing as there is nothing important you have to tell me, I’ll be going.”

He turned Nikri to call his small outfit of mounted men, then gave Laurent a nod.

“Fetch Crassus should you need something.” He paused. “Come to think of it, it will probably be most efficient if you make your requests through him or Pallas from now on. We’ve just started an intense training regimen that will occupy almost all of my time outside of court.”

He didn’t wait for Laurent to reply before he nudged Nikri forward and headed out of the Akielon camp.

* * *

Laurent felt the eyes on him when Damen rode away, all the attention that had been placed on the two of them, turned to the one left behind. His hands were still outstretched from where he’d been petting Nikri. He put them down at his sides, and with his usual ease and grace, turned on his heel and headed back to his own chambers.

It took work not to look as if he’d just been dismissed, as if he’d not just been told by his betrothed in so many words to ‘get away.’ Far away.

Lazar was at his door, standing guard, and Laurent only lifted his head in time to see Lazar avert his gaze. Despite orders, he had clearly spoken with Pallas, if the hate in /his/ eyes meant anything.

“He is in the Akielon camp,” Laurent told Lazar, motioning down the hall. Damen’s training regimen, though an excuse, was probably not a lie, and Pallas would undoubtedly be a part of it. Besides, Laurent could do without personal guard right now, especially one standing so close to his door. The ones at the entrance to his apartments would be enough. “Go. Now,” he ordered before entering his room.

Laurent at least made it into his chambers before the tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

He could not even get /to/ Damen to talk to him, to try to apologise, to explain himself, and people would notice that. They already had begun to, and it would only become more and more apparent. And on top of that, Damen had so clearly given the order that his men did not take leadership from Laurent any longer...and that he should not be let near unless otherwise asked for.

The ink had been cleaned from the wall from Laurent’s last fit, but he noticed the pot had been refilled when he sat down at his desk. He had to work, had to keep himself busy, had to do /something/ with his brain that didn’t involve him focusing on /this/.

He had felt this way before - twice, honestly - like he had lost everything. This was the second time he’d blamed himself. But...perhaps that softened the blow a bit. He had felt this way before, and he had survived. Both times. The second time had, of course, been due to Damen’s saving him, and the first had been due to his uncle ‘saving’ him. Maybe this would be the time he didn’t need saving. At his age, surely, he could do this himself.

Laurent would go to the hearth now and burn his lips off for what he’d done were he not well aware that he would need his looks in the future, especially if this truly was the end. The only hope Laurent still had was the cuff still secured around Damen’s wrist. So long as that was there, he felt he had...something to hold onto.

The ink bottle was in grave danger of ending up catapulted across the room again, but Laurent set his jaw and forced himself to pick up his quill and just...work. On the shared properties of Akielos, on the share of power over certain lands, and whatever else he had to move things along as /normal/.

* * *

Damen realized how he had abandoned his men when they showed off what they had been practicing without him. He watched as they executed maneuvers they had learned from Veretians, and wondered when they had learned them, and from who. But they were as skilled as ever on the field, enough so that Damen felt confident in leading them into difficult maneuvering for the rest of the afternoon into the evening until he was covered in sweat and smiling.

They would be well prepared for war if it came to it.

Damen returned to their camp to find Lazar speaking quietly to Pallas. Pallas was downcast, resting his head against Lazar’s shoulder in a quiet moment. Lazar put his arms around him, and Damen let them be, his own heart twisted up inside him. Laurent was probably eating sweetmeats with Fynn, pressing cool cloths to his bruised face. Damen found himself wishing he could hold Laurent in his arms without him knowing somehow, just for the comfort of him. But Laurent had chosen someone else, and made it clear he had no remorse for his actions and defended Fynn.

He left camp and entered the palace in his training leathers, but didn’t so much as look down the hall toward Laurent’s chamber. Pallas was with Lazar, but Damen didn’t mind entering his chambers without a guard just to bathe and change into his court clothing for dinner.

He washed himself until he smelled of oils and not of sweat, then went back to his room to change into one of his finer chitons. He thought again of Laurent, of the way he had grasped Fynn’s face to pull him in for a kiss, chaste but wanting. Fynn had certainly wanted it, and Laurent had made sure to give.

His cuff winked at him into the light of the brazier, and he polished it with a fine cloth so it no longer looked gnarled.

He knew he had to make a decision about their union, but he wasn’t sure what that would be yet. He had never thought he would be his mother in his marriage—watching his spouse love someone else while he tried to keep a kingdom together. He couldn’t imagine taking anyone else, but he had said the same about Jokaste.

All he knew now was that he had to take as much time as he could away from Laurent in order to make his decision. He was still too raw to show anything put the cold politeness he had shown earlier. That way, he only had to think of Laurent as a royal body, not as someone he knew and loved.


	18. Part I: Undecided (6.9.20)

Dinner was served, and Laurent was called before Damen, as a delay to his arrival was anticipated. Lucien helped to dress Laurent, provided him with a small bowl to wash the ink from his hands from his day of writing.

“I hear Damianos is bringing the silk spinner to dinner this evening,” Lucien said to Laurent, for he had never been in the wrong to make small talk with Laurent before. Not since the incident where Laurent and Damen had saved him, anyway. “That must be very exciting. Golden cloth for your wedding. I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

Laurent did not respond, so Lucien did not push any further.

It wasn’t until after Laurent had left the chambers that Jord has pulled Lucien aside, held him close and explained to him the situation.

“It is wise not to mention Damianos to him,” he murmured. “And wiser not to mention him to Damianos.”

Lucien frowned, but nodded in his agreement to keep quiet from here on out.

It would be one less person for Laurent to talk to.

The dinner crowd was, thankfully, smaller than that at lunch, with only the courts and a few guests, all esteemed and of a higher class from both kingdoms.

“The Akielon look to be training for a war,” Laurent heard as he stepped inside the hall, knowing it was from one of his own, for not a moment later, it was being translated into Akielon to one of Damen’s men. The man only laughed, shook his head.

“It is intimidation only. For those Kemptian imbeciles who thought to prank our king.”

Laurent took his seat without so much as a greeting. He wasn’t hungry.

* * *

Damen met Dracus outside the palace. He was wearing fine clothes embroidered with copious amounts of gold. He wore traditional gold jewelry from Akielos, bracelets and a necklace. It was clear he was excited for the prospect of dinner with the court and Damen was thankful for the attention on him and his trade. He didn’t want to have to face Laurent again, but it would be easier now that he was exhausted from training.

“Laurent,” Fynn greeted, his eye now swollen shut on the side closest to him. “I hope you’ll eat this time. If not, I still have several baskets of prawns frozen outside, if you’d like something nostalgic.”

He didn’t press any further or reach out to touch him, though he wanted to.

“I thought,” he said after a moment. “My face looks rather like the time Auguste sent me to the hive he had supposedly smoked.” He rolled his eyes, though it hurt to do so. He desperately wished to lighten the mood in some way.

Damen arrived a few minutes later in his blood red cape and golden lion pin on his chiton. His laurel crown rested comfortably on his curls, and his smile was genuine as he greeted those around him. Since he was the visiting king and had arrived after Laurent, there were protocols to be followed.

He approached Laurent’s throne and bowed respectfully. He scooped up Laurent’s hand unceremoniously, the way he would lift a piece of armor, and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of his palm.

“Forgive my lateness,” Damen said respectfully, but he didn’t meet Laurent’s eye. “Allow me to introduce Dracus. His family embroidered the chitons I gifted you.”

He set his gaze then, hard on Laurent.

“Didn’t you think they were lovely, Your Majesty?” He smiled at him. “Of course Veretians think they are revealing, but no one can deny your craftsmanship.”

* * *

Fynn did not deserve the chilled treatment Laurent gave him, and Laurent knew that, but he couldn’t shake it from himself. Fynn had done nothing wrong, but when had Laurent ever put a filter on his anger, on who he faced it towards? The last thing Laurent wanted to hear about was Auguste right now on top of all of this.

Damen had said Auguste would be proud of Laurent’s play at power, his ongoing ‘lie’, as an attempt at breaking Laurent down, but Laurent knew it was the exact opposite. What Damen had actually pointed out was how disgusted his brother would be with him for this. Of course, Auguste still would have raked him through it, would have gone to Damianos and spoken with him, tried to end this spat, but Laurent was not so sure he’d ever be able to regain that respect from his brother were he here.

Laurent didn’t have the chance to say anything to Fynn even if he /had/ magically decided to speak to him, for Damen entered, golden and beautiful, powerful and proud. And, as per protocol, he approached Laurent directly, took a hand that Laurent almost snatched back, but he played his part, as was expected, stayed still and allowed it.

Damen's hands were warm, familiar...

But his eyes were hard and hateful, if only for a flash of a moment.

Laurent held his gaze, empty, before turning bright eyes up to the craftsmen.

“Dracus,” Laurent greeted blandly, his attention wrenched from Damen to the man. Laurent pulled his hand back to himself, held it under the table. “I thank you for the exceptional work. Never have I felt so comfortable and regal at the same time.”

It was all Laurent could offer by way of kindness.

“Tell me, what is your business here this evening?” Laurent asked, turning the attention from him back to Damianos’ guest.

* * *

Damen let out an involuntary snort at Laurent talking about the comfort of his chiton. He’d spoken to Fynn about it like it was something childish or whoreish, and h supposed Soren hadn’t made the latter less of an assumption. Thinking back to the inn gave him none of the pleasure it had before. It was their last time together untainted by Fynn, but he knew now that Laurent already thought his culture was barbaric and unseemly.

“King Damianos thought it was high time I met the Veretian court. I have been learning so much about fabrics from Charls—we will be working closely on the clothing for your union. He sent me sketches some weeks ago, my mother has already started on some of the more intricate pieces,” Dracus explained, his voice hurried with nervousness. he had never seen Laurent up close—he was striking. Damianos was very lucky…except for the fact that they had all been instructed not to listen to Laurent, nor follow his orders unless necessary.

Dracus cleared his throat. “I have very much enjoyed my time in Arles,” he said with a nod, trying to speak of anything else. “I’ve contracted a pet to bring back to Akielos—I much prefer him to any pleasure slave."

The dinner bell was rung, and Dracus excused himself to find his seat, leaving Damen unexpectedly alone in the company of Laurent and Fynn. Fynn looked down at his plate and wisely said nothing.

Damen opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He wanted to apologize for the cut on Laurent’s cheek, but couldn’t find a way for it to sound genuine.

“Your Majesty,” he said instead, and backed away before walking to his own seat.

Fynn put his head in his hand and sighed.

* * *

Charls’ industry would be incomparable with Dracus’ embroidery and fine gold, and it was sobering to see something else so wonderful coming from the union-that-might-not-be. It was also a great relief to hear Damen had contracted Dracus to start their wedding clothing weeks ago, as it was something that had not even crossed Laurent’s mind.

How bittersweet.

“I look forward to wearing what you create,” Laurent said kindly enough, his eyes levelled one the man to look anywhere but Damianos...which seemed to be a bit much on the craftsman.

“Should your hands not be too full with him,” Laurent smiled amicably to the man in parting, but his eyes were dead behind it. He doubted this man would be able to tell, however. Most people meeting Laurent for the first time had no understanding of his expressions as they were too hung up on his looks alone.

His eyes swung away—

And right on Damen, who /almost/ looked like he might say something. Laurent could see it in his eyes, see Damen wanted to say something /honest/ to him...but of course, he didn’t. He walked away. Again.

Laurent swallowed that fact and turned his eyes forward again, cleared his throat, and tried just to look like /himself/.

“And we look forward to seeing it as well,” Mathe spoke up genially, raising his cup to Dracus. “I hope it will be an even distribution of both our cultures?”

* * *

“Of course,” Dracus replied with a nod. “Charls would not allow me to do otherwise. He is far too fond of Vere, and I of Akielos.” He thought it was odd that Damianos hadn’t mentioned anything about the union while he had been discussing it, but Damen hadn’t been speaking about much of anything beyond training all day. Even when patrolling the village, the soldiers said he only spoke strategically.

Damen took his seat on his throne and started in on his meal, ravenous from all of his training.

******

So it continued for a week. Damen kept to himself, visible with smiles and politeness, but he avoided Laurent entirely outside of court. His heart had begun to harden a little more each time he saw Laurent with Fynn.

The swelling went down on Fynn’s face, but his bruises turned green, then yellow, then purple again as he did his best to keep Laurent company—a miserable business.

He wrote furiously to Kempt to explain the situation, and urged his father not to worry. An alliance would come somehow. But as he sat through another lunch where Damen talked to everyone but Laurent, he could no longer stand the fact that he had caused this.

“Laurent,” he called after lunch was over and everyone was disbanding. Damen had already made it to the doors. “I received a letter from my father. I would like for you to see it in the study, please.”

There was no letter, but Fynn had tried unsuccessfully to reach Laurent at least half a dozen times in the past few days. Enough was enough.

* * *

A week, and there had been no give on anything. Laurent continued to ghost about his own palace, only speaking up belittle someone in hopes of clearing his path from /anyone/. He worked tirelessly, slept only when he felt he could trust himself not to dream about all of this nonsense, which was barely ever. He gave up on trying to visit Damen, only ever saw him in court where their union was brought up in /theory/, but never in action.

Every day, his court asked /him/ about the Akielon decree for the union. Every day, Laurent told them they were not the priority group of which to view it.

Laurent did eat, if only to keep himself fuelled and going. On the third day, he’d eaten a generous amount of food, but that was after hours at the training field, which he has admittedly ordered clear of Akielons out of pettiness and spite.

It was his, after all.

And that was his plan after lunch this day, to perhaps become such a nuisance that Damen would have to address him /once/—

But instead, Fynn was the one to grab his attention.

And Laurent stopped.

It had been a week of his ignoring Fynn as well, and...Laurent needed to talk to someone. He needed some sort of human interaction, even if it meant putting himself at risk again of rumours, of /Damen/. Fynn had not deserved the cold shoulder a week ago, and he did not deserve it now.

What would one meeting with Fynn do that his last had not, anyway?

“To the study, then,” Laurent said plainly, nodding for Fynn to lead the way.

He knew there was no letter. He knew Fynn just wanted to talk, and Laurent no longer had a reason not to do so. It had been a week without so much as a break in Damen. Laurent needed some humanity.

* * *

Fynn led Laurent to the study, keeping a close eye on him in case Laurent decided to bolt. He’d been so distant over the past week, more despondent than Fynn had ever been around to see. He imagined it had been worse after Auguste’s death, but Fynn had not been able to visit Vere for that with all of the political turmoil that followed.

He instructed his guard to bring them tea and firmly closed the door behind them once they entered. He hadn’t been able to see Laurent up close anytime except at meals, where he stayed rigid and detached the entire time he sat at the table.

“I told you I would protect you any way I could,” Fynn began softly, turning to face Laurent. “And right now I’m trying to protect you from yourself.”

He didn’t care about the rumors. As much as he wished he could have Laurent as his betrothed, he knew better now. Laurent needed Damianos, and the longer he went without him, the worse it was for the world as they knew it.

“This has been horrible for you, and it’s my fault, I know that,” Fynn continued. “But you cannot slip your way back into Damen’s life by emptying his arenas and trying to stumble upon him in the halls.”

Fynn pulled out a chair and motioned for Laurent to sit. He wasn’t asking.

“The fact of the matter is that you’ve hurt him. Possibly more than he has ever been hurt in his life, but he hasn’t given up on you.” Fynn crossed his arms. “He still wears his cuff and has yet to refuse your proposal. He is waiting—for an apology.”

Fynn our up a hand to preemptively stop Laurent from interjecting.

“The truth doesn’t matter. You need to make a show of apologizing. He may refuse it, but you have to be relentless. So long as he wears that cuff, you have a chance. But act as you have been and you are rapidly losing ground.”

* * *

The moment the door closed, Laurent knew he was in for a lecture. Auguste used to do the same thing, offer him tea and treats, lull him into cooperation, and then teach him some lesson Laurent never asked for. Of course, from Auguste, he’d been grateful, and he supposed in time that he would be grateful for this too, but...he didn’t like it.

Laurent’s first argument was that this was /all/ Fynn’s fault, but luckily a week of mostly staying quiet held that comment back. Because it wasn’t true. Fynn should never have asked for the kiss, but Laurent never should have given it. No matter what reasoning he had then. Laurent’s entire life has been based on how he was /perceived/, so why did he think the truth would ever matter?

“I have /tried/ to apologise,” Laurent told Fynn as calm as ever, clearly detached from this. “He will not see me. He has ordered his men to keep me away, and he avoids me with everything he has.”

And, more than that:

“I cannot support what he did,” Laurent added on, and it seemed he had been holding a lot of this back since it all began, having no one to talk to, no one to share. “He was given no consequences for attacking you over something I did.” The cut on Laurent’s cheek was a small scab now with minimal bruising, and it did not bother him, as he had returned the favour.

“He used Auguste against me, he has redistributed my gifts, he has humiliated me outright with all of his men—“

Laurent had moved into something much less calm as he spoke, caught in days and days of silent emotion that he’d so stubbornly suppressed.

“My whole kingdom is talking about how easily swayed I am right now, and it is /not/ in a positive light. They are whispering my age, my weakness...” Laurent say back in his chair, folded his arms and looked away. This was...difficult.

* * *

“I chose to support what he did,” Fynn said. “You didn’t ask it of me, but I did it for you. Starting a war would have been foolish, and Damen had every right to be angry about what he saw.” Fynn couldn’t say he regretted that kiss though, because he had needed it. He wouldn’t be as strong as he was now without it.

It hurt so much to see Laurent so strained. Fynn knew he was bottling up his true emotion, and that wasn’t going to cut it, not anymore. Laurent needed to take action.

“He feels he has been totally betrayed,” Fynn said. “Further, this has sliced open an old wound and driven straight down past it. But he could have inflicted far worse things on both of our countries—Akielos could have declared war against both of us, and he would have grounds.”

It wasn’t ideal, but Fynn had the advantage of outside perspective.

“You are stronger than ever,” Fynn said. “But trying to pretend you aren’t upset isn’t working. Everyone can see it, and /that’s/ why they’re growing unsteady. You’re lying with your face, Laurent.”

Fynn pulled up a chair across from him and sat. He rested a hand on Laurent’s shoulder, daring Laurent to slap him. It was a comforting touch, and he’d locked the door behind them.

“You need a resolution. You know him best, I’m sure he isn’t hard to trick. Lure him. Fake an illness—do /something/ to force his hand. He is still following protocols.”

Fynn sighed. “Heartbreak is illness enough, but you are expounding it by acting this way. Either address the problem directly or cast him out for insulting your decree. It won’t be easy to convince him to trust you, but you can plant the seed. I will support you either way.”

* * *

Laurent did listen, understanding that if Fynn had excused Damen for his actions, than Laurent ad no reason not to. Well, not as strong a reason not to. It was still alarming, what Damen had done, but Laurent could not hinge his decision in that moment alone.

But that did not mean everything else Damen had done was excusable. Laurent was not son convinced Damen even knew him now, understood him as he so claimed he did for so long now. Laurent could not live out his life with a man who doubted his every word, his every action—

But he could not live without him, either.

“I cannot trick him,” Laurent murmured, humouring Fynn’s line of thinking. “He no longer trusts me as it is. I’ll not add to that now.”

Laurent swiped his hand over his eyes, but no tears seemed to be falling. A preventative measure, then.

He didn’t feel strong, certainly not more so than ever. He felt back to where he was at thirteen, lost and alone - save for this very moment - with the attitude of his sixteen year old self, and worsening, as it had then. He felt everyone turning on him, and the only reason he felt it was because people /had/ turned to him, both Akielon and Veretian alike.

Damen had undone all of that.

/He/ had undone all of that.

“I do know him, and that is why this is so trying,” Laurent went on, looking up to Fynn then. “My unhappiness would be illness enough for him to come. I have not snapped at him, I have not belittled or attacked him since that night...” It was as open as Laurent could be.

And he could not chase after Damen, could not go running to him like a lost child because Laurent did not allow himself that side anymore. He had been mocked for it, relentlessly once. He could not chase, could not beg Damen to stay.

Perhaps it’s was stubbornness, perhaps it was ignorance, perhaps it was fear, but Laurent genuinely had no idea what to do.

“Am I to tell /Pallas/ I mean to apologise to Damianos? Am I to risk his turning me away?” Laurent did finally snap, overwhelmed with all of this insecurity, this inability. “For that is the only way I can even /hope/ to see my own betrothed. And if he says no, what then? I push my way in and humiliate myself with Akielon guard? And then how will /my/ men respond? Am I the only one that /thinks these things through/?”

* * *

Fynn sat quietly whole Laurent worked it all through. He would never understand the weight of a crown, but he knew Vere, and as much as they loved to gossip and ruin good plans, they respected Laurent. The council wasn’t anywhere close to powerful enough to take over the throne, and there was no one left in the line to secure the monarchy. They had no choice but to support Laurent.

“I would go in your stead if I didn’t think he’d kill me,” Fynn said with an attempt at humor. He did wish he could have gone, even as bait. But he risked insulting all of Akielos.

“Your guard, Lazar,” Fynn said. “He loves Pallas. Find out from him what plans there are this evening. At dinner, publicly invite Damianos to...” He frowned, trying to think of something that could secure a meeting.

He smiled. “Tell him you will discuss an heir. As part of your decree—the council will salivate over it. Damen will know it is a trick, but if he still supports the union he will have to accept or risk insulting Vere beyond return.”

“And if he doesn't, then you will have your answer and he will look like an ungrateful guest. He will look foolish to Akielons and will have a horrible time trying to start a war if he’s stayed this long.”

Fynn didn’t like pinning people politically, but Laurent was suffering and Damen had to make a decision sometime.

“You are a king,” Fynn reminded him with a squeeze to his arm. “You’ve handled far worse than this. Damen is still with you.”

* * *

It wasn’t a terrible idea by means of cornering Damen, but it would be terrible to tease Damen in such a way. Fynn called that Damen would see through the ruse, but perhaps Laurent had to accept that as it was. Perhaps Damen did deserve to feel a little uncomfortable with how he was treating this, for his inability to face Laurent head on. They would both have to back deal, it seemed.

And maybe...if it meant actually fixing this, if it never making things okay, he would actually discuss an heir. It would be easier than making some giant display of what Laurent considered weakness to his kingdom.

He looked up when Fynn squeezed his arm, and Laurent nodded. He was a king, but more than that, he was a king that did not have to rule alone.

He hoped.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Fynn, genuinely, grateful for an advisor he trusted for once. Damen, up to this point, had been biased. It was nice to just be confronted, as he was. “Thank you for forgiving him. And for...assisting me in this. I know I have been unkind.”

* * *

“I’ve seen you be unkind,” Fynn teased. “I still have my cock intact, so I think I made it out all right.”

He just hoped it worked. Fynn pressed a kiss to Laurent’s blond hair before moving to the door to accept the tray of tea and pastries. He brought it over to the table and sat it down by Laurent before pouring the both steaming cups of tea to sip on.

“You can repay me by taking time to drink this tea and to tell me about what you’ve been doing this week.” He grabbed up a pastry and popped it on his mouth before leaning against the desk to give Laurent a smile.

“When you talk to him, don’t be discouraged if it doesn’t go well,” Fynn made sure to add. “He is deeply upset. But you can remind him that a meeting about an heir will take time, and then you can wait for him to speak. He has been trying to say something to you for days now, with a bit of silence he will burst, I’m sure.”

Then his face turned dark.

“If he harms you, I will call for war,” Fynn said decidedly. “You will have no part with a king who hurts you. What happened to your face is quite enough.”

* * *

There was nothing Laurent could do until dinner, so he might as well stay and eat /something/. Pastries were one of his preferred meals, so he had no aversions. Just as he had no aversions when Fynn kissed the top of his head. He had no desire to chase it, no desire to have more, but it was nice. Laurent would not deny it.

They had not discussed what would happen if Damen /did/ refuse the conversation, what that would do to Laurent and the entirety of Vere when they heard, but...perhaps Laurent would have the time to make a plan for if that occurred. There were many hours until dinner, after all, and a bit of sugar in his system might help him think.

“He would never have hit me had he known who was behind him,” Laurent dismissed, still believing that to be true. Laurent was the one who had hit Damen knowingly. He could not fault Damen for something he had done moments later. And Damen was restrained when Laurent had hit him, which seemed a fair rebuttal for attacking a drunk man...

“And if it comes to war, he would be unable to kill  
me on the battlefield. That is not a worry I have.”  
But one he had clearly thought out.

Laurent wished he could be more talkative, but he had a lot on his mind. He sat quietly and ate his pastry, sipped his tea, and after, continued to sit as if he were waiting for a dismissal. He did not want to see rude after Fynn had taken the time to advise him through this, but it was clear he wanted to leave, wanted to start planning, wanted things to go back to how they were.

* * *

Fynn made sure Laurent ate and drank. He filled the quiet air with stories of the week and how happy his soldiers were to be here, even if they didn’t buy the story of what had happened a week prior. His face was most recovered except for discoloration, but Fynn still had the occasional nightmare of Damianos leering down at him, fist raised and ready.

Once Fynn was satisfied with Laurent’s eating, he offered his help and said his goodbyes. He gave Laurent a hug when he left, holding him a moment longer than he needed to, just to make sure he was getting some kind of physical affection.

Damen was exhausted. Training was a fine release of tension, but his mind could not be exercised the same way. He thought constantly about the union, worked through both accepting and denying Laurent’s decree. He wanted things to go back to the way they had been, but saw no way they could when Laurent loved another man.

So when it came time for dinner he braved himself for the onslaught of barbed questions that came with every meal and took his seat next to Laurent’s chair, unable to avoid it. He only had so many men he could bring to dinner, but Laurent never acknowledged him anyway, so meals with him went fine.

He wondered how many decades they could keep it up before they dissolved into nothing.

* * *

Lucien prepped Laurent for dinner as he had the nights before. As a pet, he had no responsibility to do this, but he liked to keep busy. Being Jord’s pet always put him in Laurent’s presence anyway, so he may as well make the most of it. Even at his angriest, Laurent had not snapped at him, so Lucien didn’t mind being there for his king. He was one of many pets that supported Laurent, he had learned amidst all of this. Most were afraid of being turned to slaves with the assured Akielon rule, but knew Laurent had their best interests in mind.

Lucien hoped to one day share that with Laurent, but Jord has warned him against making small talk with the king at this time.

So Lucien was more than slightly surprised when Laurent addressed him while he laced up the back of his king’s jacket.

“I will not need your assistance after dinner tonight,” Laurent informed him. “I hope to have a guest."

“Damianos?” Lucien asked without thinking, his tone hopeful right until he realised he had brought up precisely who he’d been asked not to. He practically felt Laurent tense under his fingers.

“Yes,” Laurent replied curtly after a short breath.

“I will not enter unless summoned,” Lucien replied quickly.

“You are not required to do this,” Laurent said then, turning to the boy, but Lucien only smiled, shook his head.

“I would serve you and the Exalted until I no longer was able,” he assured Laurent cheerily, and though Laurent smiled at him, even Lucien could see the sadness behind it.

****

Laurent was late to dinner, as per usual, and he and to admit to being slightly shaken when he saw Damen was actually sat right next to him this evening. He greeted him with a bold kiss on the hand, not because it was required in his kingdom, but because Laurent wanted to. It was...respectful.

“Your Majesty,” Mathe spoke up, “A pleasure to see you.”

“Is it?” Laurent asked, surprisingly confident. His eyes slid to Fynn, and where Laurent’s expression did not change in the least, it was a silent acknowledgement that he was trying.

“We heard you took council in the Herzog’s chambers today,” Mathe praised, though Laurent knew what he was trying to do there. “We cannot wait to hear what progression is happening behind closed doors.”

* * *

Damen was stunned, to say the least. He had kept his gaze straight ahead when Laurent entered the hall, only turning when Laurent took his hand and kissed it. It was an entirely unexpected move, and Damen had no clue how to respond to it. Laurent didn’t need to kiss his hand for his lateness as Damen did, and Laurent bowed nor knelt to any man—a kiss was basically both.

His jaw went slack for only a moment before he nodded at Laurent.

“Good evening, Your Majesty,” he greeted as politely as he could.

Damen eyed his plate when Mathe mentioned Fynn and Laurent taking council together. He assumed that Fynn’s soft words and kisses had emboldened Laurent tonight and it made his stomach sour. But Mathe was an annoying shit, and Damen was tired of his gossip.

“Anyone would lock themselves away to escape from you,” Damen snapped with unexpected venom.

Mathe blinked, equally shocked. “I merely meant—“

“You never ‘merely’ anything,” Damen interrupted. “Every Veretian is the same. Say one thing and mean another. Isn’t that tiring?”

Fynn nodded to Laurent and gave him an encouraging nudge of his foot under the table.

* * *

It was not wise to go and insult an entire culture while sitting at their table. Damen had always been bold, but this was foolish. Laurent almost wanted to call him on that, wanted to ask him if he was /trying/ to undo their entire union.

But Laurent could not risk the answer.

“It is exhausting,” Laurent chimed in instead and, in that moment, it almost would appear Damen and Laurent were...working together. It seemed to pull the attention from what Damen had just said...even if he was technically correct.

“But hopefully not too tiring,” Laurent said, picking up his drink and actually sipping from it for once at the table. He cleared his throat and tried to appear as indifferent as possible as he just jumped into it.

“I was hoping you might have the energy to discuss our union this evening. Particularly the discussion of our heir, as I understand that is delaying the Akielon decree of union.”

* * *

Some kind of trap was being laid. Damen could feel the snare tightening around him and he knew it had something to do with Laurent. Insulting Vere was all too easy with the way things were going, and he wasn’t sorry for it. His people had been ignored for long enough, and his culture had been insulted so intimately just one week prior that the wound was still bleeding.

Damen watched carefully as Laurent took a drink, but it was too late to question him. Instead the snare pulled tight and Damen found himself facing an impossible decision.

Unless something miraculous had happened in a week, Laurent had no intention of having an heir. This was clearly a ploy designed to make it so he couldn’t refuse a private meeting to discuss the Union decree he was well aware he had taken too long to reciprocate.

Refusing the meeting would turn every every Veretian at the table against him. Accepting me at he would be forced in a room with Laurent for an extended period of time, and he wasn’t sure he could stand that pain.

But his father had always told him that war should be avoided if possible, and that matters of the kingdom came first.

“I was planning to take my men through drills, but it can wait,” Damen said evenly, not yet looking over at Laurent. “After our meal, then.”

Fynn fought not to smile.

Mathe did smile, and cast a triumphant look to Lady Vannes.

Damen poured himself more wine and tried to think of any possible way he could avoid the meeting without starting a conflict.

* * *

The time it took Damen to agree to the meeting was just enough time for Laurent to become absolutely nauseous. He could feel the denial coming on, could feel Damen about to make an excuse, about to end it right there—

But he didn’t. He agreed to the meeting, and Laurent might have visibly loosened up his grip on his cup.

“I’ll keep you no longer than you want to be there,” Laurent murmured to Damen, so quietly and so surreptitiously that even Fynn might not have heard it, but he did not look over to check. It was not a complete lie. Laurent would like to believe that Damen would /want/ to stay, but after the way that wait just felt, he did not want to put too much hope on it.

He kept his eyes fixated before him, and though he drank from his cup, he did not touch his food. He couldn’t stand the idea of eating right now, for he was so genuinely /nervous/.

“An heir would be quite the surprise,” Vannes spoke up after a moment. “I am sure the Akielon are happy to hear there may be movement on such a subject.”

“Well, we should let them have the conversation first,” Jeurre spoke up after clearing his throat. “It is a matter between two kings first.”

“Oh, but I am so /excited/,” Vannes smirked, but she did not press any further.

* * *

Just a few weeks ago, Damen had imagined their heir. He’d hoped for a little prince to raise together, to see Laurent be the loving parent Damen knew he could be. But Laurent didn’t want a child, and there was nothing worse than an infant growing up to learn one of his fathers never wanted him. It was hard enough to be an heir with support from their parents, and if anyone were to question the legitimacy of the child it would become a Kastor. A traitor.

Damen felt it was an immeasurable cruelty to dangle the hope of a child in front of him. But he would agree to a union if a child would be born to secure the line. He could handle a political marriage if he had an heir to raise instead of suffering an eternity next to a man who had only wanted him until a better suitor came along, one who had a past with August that Damen could never match.

He wanted to say that he didn’t want to go to this meeting at all, but instead he just took another bite of his bread and another sip of wine to wash it down.

When dinner was finished Damen stood and offered his arm, as was required of him for such a situation.

“Shall we?”

* * *

Laurent took Damen’s arm, and though it was something he’d done all the time before, it did not feel familiar. Damen’s arm was tense under his hands, and there was no doubt that he was uncomfortable with Laurent being so near. It definitely threw Laurent the smallest bit, as he would have hoped Damen would have wanted this a /little/ bit, but that was clearly not the case.

He did not look back to Fynn for reassurance as they exited, though he very much could have used it. He had planned to get this far, but truth be told, he’d put most of his planning into Damen rejecting him.

He absently ran his fingers over Damen’s cuff as they walked, as if it might spring a genie and grant him three conversation starters that wouldn’t leave Damen running off in the first five seconds of their conversation.

“Would you like to have this conversation in our chambers or in the study?” Laurent asked, thinking that a fair place to start.

* * *

Damen felt like a slave again, more so than he had the night before when Laurent had cuffed him to the bed. He still couldn’t believe Laurent had done it, after everything they had discussed about how horrible it was to be in Arles and reminded of his first time in the palace. The man beside him hardly seemed like the one he had fallen in love with. Laurent hadn’t so much as looked at him since what had happened, and Damen couldn’t imagine what he was going to try to pull now.

“The study,” Damen said stiffly, though he noticed that Laurent was absently touching his cuff. Perhaps an act of ownership, though Damen’s heart told him otherwise.

“Assuming there are no chains there,” he added.

He could only imagine that Laurent wanted him to apologize to Fynn. That was probably the only reason he wanted this conversation in private and to pretend to discuss an heir, so then Laurent could justify his fleeing to Fynn and have grounds to retract his decree.

When they arrived at the study, Damen dropped Laurent’s arm immediately and turned to face him the second the doors were closed.

“What do you want? Because I know it isn’t an heir.”

* * *

Laurent was just getting used to having Damen so close again when his arm was dropped and the illusion went right along with it. He’d hoped for something better, but again, he knew better.

“An heir would be the least of my worries at this moment,” Laurent murmured as he crossed the room. He would not put himself between Damen and the door, should Damen want to leave. When Laurent had chained him, it had been for his own good. Keeping him locked in here, forced to talk to Laurent, would have been an act of enslavement.

He took a seat in one of the chairs and let himself just /be/. He sagged, face in his hands for a moment as he took a moment to breathe, and then he motioned to the chair just a few feet away. It wasn’t for the sympathy or the attention. It was just that Damen already knew every weakness he’d had, had seen Laurent at his worst. Laurent did not need to keep up appearances /now/.

“I’m sure you’ve no interest in making yourself comfortable, but I was hoping to have an actual discussion,” he said, looking back up to Damen. “About—“ he motioned between them tiredly.

“I am not so sure you’ll ever accept an apology from me,” Laurent started, “and I am certain you do not care for the truth of what happened that evening, so I won’t bore you with it.” Laurent wanted to tell the truth, wanted to really get into it, but as Fynn said, that wasn’t important. His comfort could not be valued over Damen’s.

“But I am sorry,” Laurent said outright, wanting that at the very least clear. “It was not an act of love as you see it, so I did not think of the implications. It was a selfish mistake that I’ve...made twice now, I understand. And I wish I could explain it, but I am not so certain even I know what I was thinking.” Laurent stopped to rub his forehead for a moment before continuing.

This time when he spoke, he lost the automated tone. He let it be heard that he was exhausted, that he had not rehearsed every bit of this for hours.

“I love you so dearly, and I do not want to do this without you, Damen, but...” Laurent looked down at his hands, clasped on the table. “I have to understand that you may...want to do this without me.” Oh, he would have done anything not to say that aloud. He closed his throat with a knot, made his eyes prick with the threat of tears, but he pushed through. He was a king, and he was stronger now than he’d ever been. “And if that is the case, we should discuss it in private.”

* * *

Damen scarcely remembered anything about his family, but he remembered funerals for those in the royal circles. The way Laurent collapsed into a seat made him think of the way his uncle had done the same after the death of his wife. Damen has been young then, but his uncle had the same look in his eyes as Laurent did now: one of loss.

He didn’t take the offered chair. Instead he just watched Laurent as he spoke, trying to see what was truth and what was a lie. Of course, Laurent was a master at dancing around both, so Damen was at a bit of a loss as to what to discern here.

He should have felt something, but instead he could only grasp at emptiness. He loved Laurent, somewhere within him. Seeing him upset made Damen ache, but it didn’t overpower the numbness of betrayal. He wasn’t sure he could even kiss Laurent right now if it was asked of him.

He couldn’t get angry, though. He was so exhausted that anger didn’t seem like an option. But he didn’t want Laurent’s touch or comfort either.

“I haven’t decided,” Damen said after a long silence. “It’s difficult for me to see you, or to look at you after what you did. I certainly don’t believe you love me dearly when you have treated me this way.”

He crossed his arms and turned his gaze to the books on the shelves before him, unable to lock eyes with the man who had betrayed him so intimately.

“I keep thinking about what to do and end up in the same moment of indecision,” Damen said, rubbing his jaw. “Do you love him?”

He would not be able to tolerate Laurent sharing his heart with that man.

“No—I don’t need to ask that. You already said you did. So what was I to you? Am I still that? Am I still not enough? Or is it simply that losing my land and wealth is what has you trying to make amends?”

* * *

“I don’t need your land or wealth, Damen,” Laurent sighed, “You know that. Where Vere would benefit from it, we have stood on our own for decades. I could make deals with others. It has nothing to do with that.”

But they were talking, and Laurent could not be so dismissive. This might be the one chance he had, especially if Damen actually meant he might pull from their union. The fact that Laurent hadn’t had a visceral reaction to hearing that was due to years of training, years of repressing all emotion to save face for his court, for his people.

“I love him as I do Auguste,” Laurent decide to say honestly. Fynn had told him the truth was not important here, but Laurent would not let this go on without Damen knowing that. Even if he lost this union for admitting to it, he would say it, and he would stand by it. “As you do Nik, I am sure. I would have him as my closest advisor, but...I misread that love. Twice. I had not felt it in so long, and—“

No. Laurent shook it off. It wasn’t an excuse, it’s just what it was.

“He loved Auguste - as I love you, not only as friends. I allowed myself to stand where he couldn’t, and that was...both very foolish of me as well as a mistake. I had ended the competition, and I had broken his heart.” Laurent waved his hand in the air. “And I /cared/.” He let out a wet laugh then, sniffled and went on about speaking, eyes dry once more after a single swipe of his hand.

“And I lost you because I was unable to navigate...everything.”

“I love you more than anything in this world, if that matters,” Laurent said plainly, “but you have every reason not to believe that.”

* * *

Damen listened, but he wasn’t sure Laurent was telling the truth. Laurent wasn’t in love with Auguste. Laurent hadn’t kissed Auguste like that—though everyone in Vere liked to think so. Fynn clearly thought he had Laurent’s affection, and he’d even said how much his father would like to hear that Laurent loved him.

“Misread?” Damen scoffed. “You had to kiss him to realize you were friends? Fine. But then kissing him again? No.”

Laurent was infuriating sometimes.

“Next will you have to let him fuck you? Just to be sure?”

He laughed bitterly, already imagining that scenario—and it could have played out had Fynn not decided to leave.

“No, I don’t believe it,” Damen said, rounding on Laurent. “Each time I put my trust in you, you turn on me. Every time. I want a partner, Laurent. I want to feel like your equal instead of something less.”

Flexing his muscle as king over the past few days had been liberating. He wasn’t yet ready to lose it and take Laurent back.

He hated to see Laurent cry, but Laurent knew that, and was probably using it against him.

“I want an heir,” Damen said. “I want a child with you. Not to raise a king, but to raise a child of our own. But I want you to want that child.” He looked always again. “So that even if our marriage turns loveless, we have an heir to unite us. Or perhaps that is why you don’t want one, so you don’t feel so chained?”

* * *

Laurent let his gaze wander back forward, away from Damen as he took this conversation where he wanted. Laurent had different hopes for how this would have gone, especially for how long Damen had let him speak, but for it to turn to this? Laurent was finding the hopelessness to go right along with his emptiness.

He could feel anger, trying to bubble it way up into him, but he would not grit his teeth, would not argue as he had. At the very least, he could let Damen tire himself out.

“You don’t want a child with me,” Laurent did dare to say, sucking his cheek between his teeth in a more unattractive face of thought. “You want a child, yes, but not with me, Damen. You just /want/ one. Just as you want things to be easy, as I warned you they would never be.”

This argument was not in his favour, but it was much like chaining Damen to the bed. This was for /his/ benefit now, to really hear what he was saying.

“I have apologised, I have told my truth, I have sworn to you, and you still don’t not believe me. You don’t even want to look at me, be /near/ me, so /why/ would you want a child with me?”

Laurent shook his head.

“If I say I would consider it, you would think it a ploy to have my way in this fight, so I will not say it,” Laurent decided, finding his place in this now. “A child has no place trapped with two loveless parents. /We/ will not survive a loveless relationship. I never saw it as a problem, for I never thought we would /be/ without love, but—“

Damen was so set in this, and Laurent was playing to that, mindlessly, trying to best Damen in his own argument, trying to come out on top of this if things did end as Damen seemed to want them to. He wanted to rule this conversation, and it wasn’t even the argument he /wanted/ to have.

“I would do anything to show you how much I love you, and yes, perhaps that means one day, my mind could be changed on the heir,” Laurent murmured then, turning to Damen with a strength he’d not yet had in this discussion. “But I will not have an heir to only to tether us together. That is not fair to a child, and you know that, Damianos.”

* * *

Damen couldn’t do this anymore. There Laurent went again, turning the argument on him. He wanted a child with Laurent. Yes, he wanted a baby to raise because he enjoyed the thought of having children, but he wanted Laurent to be with him, teaching the child how to fend itself in a world different from Damen’s. They made up for each other’s weaknesses, they could raise an heir who ruled with their best parts.

He still loved Laurent. Hearing him speak like they had nothing made Damen feel like they had perhaps fallen out of love already. He hadn’t thought it possible, especially with how good things had been just one week ago.

Tonight he would sleep alone, as he had every night since seeing Laurent kiss Fynn. Since he’d seen Laurent cradle the face of another man and press their lips together.

“I do want a child with you,” Damen cut. “Don’t you see that? You broke /my/ heart, Laurent and yet all you can talk about is your wounded Fynn!”

He wanted to run, but there was no place to escape this.

“I am so tired of pulling love from you, coaxing and convincing. You claim you are not built to return it as others do, yet look what you have done for /him./“ He couldn’t hide the pain in his voice now, raw and frayed. “You take him away from duties just to speak to him, you spend whole evenings whispering to each other in his bedchamber, you...you touched him so...”

He didn’t know the right word. One that explained his hurt.

“Gently. Affectionately. Like he was the only one you had ever wanted. And if that was false as you claim—why can’t you fake it for me?”

* * *

“I saw Fynn for the first time after what I did to you /today/, Damen,” Laurent all but groaned, he couldn’t believe they were back at /this/. “Yes, I was there to be sure he lived through your beating him, but that’s because that was /my/ fault.”

Laurent wasn’t yelling, wasn’t hissing. He was just.../explaining/ with all the energy he had left in him.

“I tried to pull /you/ from your duties, tried to get any moment alone with you that I could, and you cut me off, Damen. You told your men to keep me away. There were no /whispers/ all through the evening, there wasn’t anything like that. I wanted /nothing more/ than to make this right, I—“

He had to stop himself. He had to. Or he was going to be himself and /ruin/ this, like he always did.

“If you truly believe that he is the one I want, more than anything, despite all I have sworn here to you, then let that be it.” Laurent stood then, pushed his chair in. “Convince yourself of that and make this as easy as you want it, Damen. I /do not/ know how to make this right. You swear you know and understand me, yet you will not hear my wrongs! You call me a liar and a traitor and a /coward/, when I am putting all of my truth and strength into /this/, to show you who I love.”

His ghost white hands were turning whiter with his grip on the chair.

“I do not lie to you, Damianos. I know you think I do, think I have, but the lie you hold against me is a truth you refuse to hear.“

* * *

They were devolving to arguments again. Damen wanted to return to his men. Arguments with Laurent never worked until he gave in, and he wasn’t going to give in this time. He had the upper hand, and he wasn’t going to give it up just because Laurent was upset.

“I’m not talking about after you were caught,” Damen growled. “I’m referring to that night. And yes, I did keep you away, because I couldn’t deal with being made to feel like I was somehow mistaken or wrong or foolish. I saw you kiss him and heard what you said.”

He didn’t know how to make this right either. He had no idea what to do, any way for Laurent to fix this even if he was telling the truth.

“Strength was when you were on trial in Ios, when you stood up to the Regent and made right what he had soured,” Damen said.

He cleared his throat.

“I do...I still love you. But one conversation after what you did to me will not fix this.” He wasn’t sure what, if anything, could. “You betrayed my trust /again./ I can’t so easily forgive a second time.”

* * *

There was no point arguing. Damen was so thick-headed! Laurent felt like he was talking in circles, exhausting /himself/ before he could even try with Damen. Round and round they kept going and going, and Laurent just needed a bite in /any/ other direction!

And Damen /finally/ gave him that.

“Then do not forgive me so easily,” Laurent /begged/ of him, exhausted and overwhelmed. “But let me fix this. Give me the chance to make this right. Don’t—“

He threw his hands up to his face, scrubbed them back into his hair. Laurent was giving Damen his all in this - no walls, no plays.

“You cannot hide yourself from me and...turn all of Akielos against me and think I will be capable of making this right. You are setting me up for failure, Damen.” And Laurent knew what that looked like. He was more used to it than anyone would ever know, but if anyone /could/ understand, it would be Damen.

* * *

“I’m not turning Akielos against you,” Damen said. “It’s difficult for me to be around you after what you did, and I always fall for whatever you plan. I don’t let them disrespect you.” He had still shown up to every meal, he had kissed Laurent’s hand, he had agreed to whatever he was supposed to agree to as a visiting king. The only real difference to the outside world was that Damen was no longer engaged in Laurent for the whole of his days. He actually spent time with his men and duties.

“But,” he added, because his father had always told him to try to understand the other side of an argument, “if that is how you feel, what can I do to improve it? Spending all of our time together as we used to will not do that. I want to be sure in my decision.”

As much as it pained him to see Laurent in such a state, he couldn’t stand being manipulated again.

“Tell me one thing you want of me, and I will do my best to give it to you.”

* * *

One thing.

Laurent had /one thing/ to ask of Damen, to give him the time to do this right, to fix it, and after only a moment of thinking that felt like no time at all, he had his answer.

“Come back to our bed at night,” he decided easily, taking the opening he saw and running right through it. He knew that was where he could fix this, and not with fucking or anything like that (though it would help), but with the peace of mind that Damen knew where he was at night.

Not to mention, Laurent could use the sleep, the comfort.

They had always done best in their private moments, and this was a place Damen had to retire to at the end of the day anyway. Let it be back with Laurent.

“It is all I ask of you. I can do the rest.”

* * *

Somehow, Damen knew that would be Laurent’s condition. He had secretly hoped that sleeping in the same bed would be asked of him, so he wouldn’t have to look like he missed the man who had cheated on him. He did though, so desperately that Damen had to force himself to stay silent for several seconds to pretend he was thinking it over.

He also wanted to be sure Laurent wasn’t sneaking off to Fynn in the dead of night, hiding from the public while pursuing a relationship in secret.

“I accept,” he said evenly. “I’ll have my things moved tonight, and that will keep the court occupied with enough rumors while I make my decision.”

Because this wasn’t over. Laurent had betrayed him in a way Damen never thought he was capable of. And…perhaps he wasn’t. But Damen wasn’t yet convinced of that.

* * *

Laurent nearly thought Damen would tell him sleeping in the same bed was out of the question, so when he agreed? Laurent couldn’t help but smile just out of the relief of it. He schooled it not a moment later, but it was more for the nature of things right now, trying to fit the mood. He did not mind that Damen knew this development pleased him.

“I look forward to it,” Laurent said honestly, crossing his arms behind his back. “I will tell my council to give you more time, and you may decide at your leisure.”

Damen would see how foolish he was being. Just a few intimate nights like they used to share, close and in /love/ would remind him of it all, of all they had. In that time, if Damen would allow it, Laurent would explain all of this. He would make up for all of this. He knew he could.

“I have kept you long enough,” Laurent said with a nod to the door, an opening for Damen to escape should he feel the need. He did know Damen had not wanted to be party to this in the first place, and he had promised not to keep him longer than desired.

* * *

Damen was uneasy the moment Laurent smiled. He wanted the comfort of the man he loved in bed with him, but he also knew it would make him vulnerable. Even sleeping in the same room had made him pliant as a slave once he had started to develop feelings for him. Laurent was a master thinker and Damen was hopeless against it.

The tension was mounting within him, mostly fear that he was giving in too easily. So when Laurent offered him the door, he took it.

But as he walked he stopped again and turned.

“What do we tell them about the heir?” Damen asked. His men would certainly ask. They too wanted Damen to raise a child in the Akielon way, and Damen hadn’t changed his mind on it.

“I don’t want to put words in your mouth.”

* * *

Oh. Of course.

“Undecided,” Laurent answered, a little deflated by just how quickly Damen had decided leaving was exactly what he wanted to do, but he didn’t show that. “You may tell them I was unreasonable and no decision could be made just yet.”

It would surprise no one.

“I will tell my council the same and face the repercussions.”

And Damen could keep that in his arsenal should he decide to end this union. He had a guaranteed that both kingdoms would respect and understand if he wanted it.

* * *

Damen nodded once. He hesitated a moment after that, warring between pressing a kiss to Laurent’s hair or to just leave. Such a small kiss would mean nothing, yet in this context it could make Laurent feel like he was going to get away with this.

Was he?

Damen couldn’t imagine living a life without Laurent. Being angry at him made him want to, but when night came and he was alone in the darkness, being angry sounded better than being alone.

“I’ll see you soon,” Damen said. He crossed the distance between them and pressed a kiss to Laurent’s hair, chaste as he could possibly be, then stepped out into the hall to return to his men.


	19. Part I: Amends (13.9.20)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! next week we'll move onto Volume 3 (a new fic), so make sure you're subscribed to this series (not just this fic) so you won't miss out.  
> \- cazio

Of course, his men hounded him about his discussions concerning the heir. Damen said that they hadn’t agreed on anything, but the discussion was open. He didn’t say that Laurent was being difficult, only that it was a sensitive matter to both kingdoms for different reasons.

Nightfall settled on Arles, and when Pallas escorted him back to his chambers, Damen informed him that he would be spending his night with Laurent, but did not want it announced.

“It was his one desire of me, so I’ve agreed to it,” Damen said when Pallas shot him a look. 

He was late in coming to bed, he knew, but he hoped Laurent hadn’t thought him to be failing to meet his promise.

He began to remove his vambraces as he entered, trying to be nonchalant. He had no idea how this would go, nor what to expect from this new version of Laurent.

* * *

He had not won Damen back, he knew, but he could not deny how much better he felt with the little he had. For the first time in some time, Laurent felt hope, and the day went on without his snapping at anyone.

Well, almost anyone.

Breaking the news to the council had been a brief meeting that no one seemed to like. Vannes stayed quiet, but even Jeurre asked him not to be unreasonable. Vere was at risk, especially if the union fell through. No one would voice it aloud, but should a war ever start between Vere and Akielos, there were no doubts Damen would have a problem doing away with Laurent, and Vere would have no one to rule. Mathe had no problem with seconding the notion, insisting that they needed a plan if an heir was not to be.

It was a constant problem, one that Laurent could not even face until he knew whether or not Damen would have him again, so after a curt hiss of a response from Laurent, he made his way out.

And to his room.

As the evening went on, Damen still did not show, but Laurent knew he would be there. In time. Certainly. Laurent could not think of anything he’d done that would warrant a kiss to his head but not a return to bed. So he prepped as usual, changed into his night shirt, and when the time came, with only a little emptiness in his heart, he climbed into the bed, under the covers...and prepared himself for what might be another night alone.

When the door opened, he did start, but he settled not a second later when he heard the familiar sounds of Akielon training garb, a smooth confidence in removing them.

Laurent pushed up on his arms and looked over to Damen, trying at his own nonchalance.

He was a natural.

“Do you require attendance?” Laurent asked, rising from the bed to cross to Damen, hands outstretched in offer. This was not an odd offer, as it was something he frequently assisted with, it was only /different/ because he never usually asked. Laurent would usually just brush Damen’s hands aside and help as he wanted, but...manners.

* * *

Damen was glad to see Laurent clothed and waiting for him. He’d half expected Laurent to try his hand at seducing him right away, something Damen would not have responded well to at all, especially after Laurent’s remarks about him being needy for physical attention. That comment had hurt him more than all the others, because Damen had spent his first months of knowing Laurent touching him only when ordered, and one of those times had resulted in his back being flayed apart.

He couldn’t help but feel he was being mocked somehow when Laurent came rushing over like an Akielon slave asking to attend him. Laurent never /asked/ to do anything, he just went ahead and did it. That was why they were in this predicament.

Damen finished unbuckling his vambraces and handed them over. He didn’t want Laurent to have his hands on him in case /that/ was part of his seduction plan.

“Thank you,” he did say, because he didn’t want to seem impolite.

He was thankful he had already removed his greaves before coming inside, so all he had to do was unfasten his boots while Laurent put away his vambraces. Once he’d gotten out of those, he moved over to his trunk to pull out a sleeping tunic. They were uncommon in Akielos except in winter, so some had been packed for him.

Damen unfastened his chiton and let it fall away before pulling on the tunic. He’d never felt self conscious about his nakedness since he’d become Laurent’s lover, not in Laurent’s presence anyway.

“I hope I wasn’t keeping you awake,” Damen said when the silence became too stuffy.

* * *

Damen was given ample space to prep himself for bed after Laurent had moved to stow away his vambraces. It was /almost/ an abnormal amount of space, but only if Damen expected Laurent to go awkwardly above and beyond with the apology. No, Laurent was more or less acting his normal self, not doing any bring too much out of the usual, but that’s what felt right.

The only thing he did change was when he moved back into bed on his own, just his side, no crossing over to be cross yet. He didn’t /think/ he was forcing Damen into being in his bed, but just in case it was misinterpreted that way, he wanted that to be the extent of it.

He also did lie to Damen within five full moments of him being there.

The true answer to Damen’s question would have been that Laurent had barely slept at all in days, that it wasn’t necessarily /Damen/ that kept him up, but his own guilt, his worry, and all sorts of negativity that would have sounded like a ploy to Damen if he said it aloud. So he lied and said, “I was fundamentally asleep as it was.”

It sounded like a better answer in his head.

* * *

Damen cocked a brow, not understanding. “Fundamentally asleep? I can’t tell if I’m supposed to be offended.” Normally that statement would be a joke, but in this case it wasn’t. It sounded to Damen like Laurent was saying he was bored of this, though that made no sense.

He looked at the bed for a moment before crawling into it. The covers were cool and undisturbed, but Damen couldn’t help but think that it might have been Fynn crawling into this bed had he not been hiding away during their goodbyes. He knew the sheets didn’t really smell like Fynn, but he smelled his cedary scent there anyway. As much as he would be willing to believe Fynn and Laurent had been in bed together, he had no evidence. And he certainly didn’t think Fynn had the gall after his horrible attempts to defend himself in the hall.

“I told the men we discussed heirs, but not that you were being difficult,” he said quietly, pulling the covers up to his chin almost like a child would. “I can’t say they didn’t assume that, but I was being honest when I said I don’t let them disrespect you.”

* * *

Laurent supposed a lie could technically be called a joke in this circumstance. He had presented it as such, but only because he could not believe the idea would sell. He thought Damen would see right through his ruse, but that was not his luck.

Surprise, surprise.

“I do not usually go out of my way to offend you,” Laurent said in hopes of keeping things light, but the moment he said it, he knew he should have just stayed quiet.

And he did, for a while, expecting that to be it for the night.

He had not anticipated Damen to want to talk at all, so when he did speak up from his side of the bed, Laurent turned to face him, more than ready to engage.

“I told my council it was my decision to delay the discussion until we had cleared the discussions of Marlas.” Laurent tucked his hand under his cheek to keep from reaching out to Damen as might not be appreciated. “I told them there were more pressing matters, which no one seemed to approve of.”

* * *

They’d slept together like this once before. Damen remembered their night in the Vaskian camp, when Laurent had told Halvik that his slave wasn’t to attend the coupling fire. Damen could barely recall the night at the coupling fire, though he had enjoyed it. The second time in camp had been different. Laurent had laughed openly, and the look of amusement on his face had been one Damen was happy to see.

Now he looked at a king. A young, regal king. Laurent had the same long lashes and striking blue eyes, but now Damen knew him in a completely different way. He knew the taste of Laurent’s mouth, the softness of his skin, the smoothness of his cheeks.

“I can’t imagine what pressing matter you must have fabricated,” Damen murmured. He was tired from training, but every part of himself said to stay on alert while Laurent was awake.

How far they had fallen in such a short time.

“I told Pallas not to tell others where I’m sleeping,” Damen said after a moment. “They will find out, I’m sure, but I didn’t want it announced. I think it will be better that way.”

* * *

Oh.

It was not what Laurent had wanted to hear, and he hardly saw how it could be seen as ‘better,’ but that was not his decision to make. Damen had his reasons, and Laurent had to respect that. At this moment, they were not co-ruling any kingdoms. Laurent literally had no say.

“I did not make it known to anyone,” Laurent replied honestly, and it was very true. Laurent did not have anyone to confide in as Damen did. Damen had his men, many of them, who cared about what he did and oversaw it and supported it, where Laurent had...Fynn. And Fynn was such a touchy subject right now, that Laurent had not even outright told him that his plan had worked. Laurent had sent him a gift in thanks - a Veretian book with a note on it that read, ‘ _I prefer this story_ ’ - but that was the extent of their communication since striking this deal with Damen.

A deal. To have his own betrothed share a bed with him.

But none of that needed to be said. Laurent could not gauge what Damen did and did not know, but that was the truth at its base. It was best to give without details so Damen had less to doubt.

* * *

Damen didn’t like being a secret or even an attempted one, but they had little choice here. He didn’t want his men to know he’d gone back to bed with someone who had wronged him—not that they knew what Laurent had done. Some suspected the truth, but Damen had been too depressed to confirm it. Lying here across from Laurent, smelling his Veretian perfumes that he loved so much just made him...miss him.

He sat up. It wasn’t a sudden move, but definitely not an expected one either. They could have gone to bed just like this after Fynn had left—/had/ he left. But instead Laurent had to kiss him.

Damen wasn’t sure he could do this. The pain was pummeling him like the surf in Ios, rolling him backward just when he found his footing in it.

“I wish I could treat you coldly,” he said quietly. “Turn my back to you and sleep.” He rested his face in his hands after drawing his legs up to cross his ankles.

“Instead I’m tempted to hold you and tell you all is forgiven when it /isn’t/ because I’m still...I hope you will never know the pain of a lover leaving you for another. You won’t with me, I assure you. It is almost unsurvivable.”

* * *

Damen sat up, and Laurent knew in that instance, he’d said too much. Already, Damen was ready to leave him, ready to write this off as a mistake, and he /knew/ it, and he should have expected it, but he’d /hoped/—

Laurent lay still as Damen spoke, looking up at him and trying to figure out where this might go. More than anything, Laurent wanted Damen to hold him, to tell him all had been forgiven, and this was Laurent’s opening to get that. Had it been anyone else, Laurent would have weaselled his way right into that weakness and used it for all it was worth.

But instead, he gave Damen to say what he needed to, and in those moments, Laurent gathered what he could of a response, something that wouldn’t be /too/ much, he hoped.

“I never left, Damen,” he said, and he would stand by that. He would never let Damen think for a second that there had been malicious intent in what he’d done. “My love never swayed from you, though I understand my actions suggested otherwise.”

There. Just that. It was all Laurent needed to say on it.

“I did not expect forgiveness tonight, if that eases your mind,” Laurent said a moment later. “I do not know that I expect it at all, quite honestly. With what information you have, I would not forgive me.”

* * *

Tears finally welled in Damen’s eyes as he sat there in their bed listening to Laurent say he would not forgive him either. Damen did not understand how he could look at another man and decide to kiss him, decide to hold him close and say he loved him. He couldn’t even grasp Laurent _wanting_ to say that to another person.

“You...”

He couldn’t even finish his thought. Instead his hands curled in the sheets and he let his tears hit the comforter.

He couldn’t talk without sounding hateful. So instead he turned, his eyes clouded with the mess of his emotion. He gingerly moved in closer and against the mattress until his head was ducked into Laurent’s chest, curling into a ball against him. It didn’t feel like intimacy, just...physical comfort.

“You called me needy,” he said quietly. “And made fun of Akielos like we’re the barbarians you always said we were. How could you? After the summer palace? After knowing me?”

* * *

He’d not meant for this.

Damen wasn’t supposed to /cry/.

Of course, it was justified, and probably for the best, but Laurent knew Damen had not wanted to show him weakness like this, had not wanted to give Laurent any sort of advantage in this...fight? Scenario.

Laurent would tread lightly, and he did so by moving to wrap his arms around Damen. It felt like an invitation to do so. Just as it felt like an invitation to explain.

He held Damen close, spoke low, rubbed his hand up and down Damen’s back hoping this was...right.

“Fynn was drunk,” Laurent told Damen, for understandably, he might not have known that or retained that information. “I was just saying things to move him along. They were sarcasm at most. If not that, /fondness/. You should know—“

That wasn’t fair. He couldn’t put that on Damen.

“I did not mean those things, Damen. I couldn’t. Who am /I/ to call someone needy?” Damen had seen Laurent, had heard his past. Laurent couldn’t call someone needy and not take himself into account.

* * *

Laurent’s arms around him wasn’t as comforting as he wanted it to be. Something felt off about all of this, and that something was keeping Damen from making his decision. He felt useless for being weak, for crying for the first time since that night, but he couldn’t stop himself. Laurent was the only one he could be so vulnerable with, yet Laurent was the reason he was so upset.

Laurent’s reasoning only made the hurt sting with greater intensity.

“You would disrespect me just to appease him? Someone you claim not to care about as much as you do me?”

What was he supposed to expect if someone of true power faulted Akielos and made him out to be a needy barbarian? Damen could see the Veretians circling, ready to take him down the moment they thought it time.

“You can be hurtful and a hypocrite,” Damen growled, turning over so that his back was to Laurent, but he didn’t wriggle free from his grasp.

“Now at least one person has heard from your mouth what you think of me when I’m not around, whether you want to call it truth or not,” he continued. “Perhaps you don’t realize how damaging it is to hear that from your closest companion.”

* * *

“It is not what I think—“ Laurent tried, but Damen literally turned his back on him. Laurent had to restrain himself, had to remind himself that the truth did not matter, the truth /did not matter/. Damen’s feelings matter, more than setting straight what he’d heard.

Liar, traitor, coward, and now hypocrite.

Laurent couldn’t just take that. His words had been seen as attacks, had been seen as his thoughts, but these /were/ Damen’s thoughts. This was what he thought of Laurent now, and...well, it was starting to hurt. Because it had been long standing, not just a one-off hateful comment meant to stay Laurent.

“Almost as damaging as being called a liar, a traitor, a coward, and a hypocrite, I am sure,” Laurent murmured, but he managed to not sound terribly accusatory. He sounded tired. He didn’t want to do this anymore than Damen did. Or maybe Damen did want to do this, wanted to give himself an excuse to swear off Laurent. “Even if I do deserve it.”

And because he couldn’t just leave it at that.

“At least I did not so passionately believe what I said.”

* * *

Damen bristled, turning to face Laurent again. “Did you expect me to call you loving and caring while you kiss another man? After you swore you would never do it again?” he snapped. “You said it wouldn’t happen again—that was a lie. By kissing him you betrayed me—a traitor. The rest, fine.”

Laurent wasn’t a coward, not really. He was strong and cutting when he needed to be, but Damen didn’t care much about that right now. He was exhausted from their earlier meeting, and now Laurent was making him feel like he was in the wrong again when he most certainly wasn’t.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to this.

“I believe facts,” Damen tacked on. “And I believe what I saw and heard.” He turned away again, this time with finality.

“Good night. I’ll be waking up early for drills.”

If he even slept at all.

* * *

“Facts,” Laurent repeated to himself in disbelief, and he did pull back his arms then.

Damen /would not hear him out/ on this. After everything. After all they were. And Laurent understood it looked bad, but he’d tried so many times to explain it, even when he truly believed he should not have to.

What was he supposed to do with this? He had given someone his heart fully, had given his mind and his trust and everything he had, and Damen refused to listen to him. Not just that, he stood by saying what Laurent had just said hurt him, and dared to say it /again/.

And Damen would never believe him. Not if he’d deemed Laurent a liar, had made up his mind on that.

If Laurent had ever seen this coming out of Damen, he never would have kissed Fynn goodbye, no matter what it meant to him or for them. He’d only done it because he was so, /so/ certain that when he explained it to Damen, Damen would understand. He would already know where Laurent’s heart lay, would celebrate the end of it all.

He couldn’t be in bed with Damen.

“I’m sorry—“

He knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t do it. Damen didn’t want to sleep in a bed with him, and Laurent did not want to sleep in a bed with Damen. Perhaps they could try again tomorrow, perhaps Laurent could do better /tomorrow/, but not this night.

He could’ve sworn that kiss to his head meant something. He could have sworn they were going in the right direction, had been so sure Damen and he would be able to talk this out.

Laurent stood from the bed, gathered a fur from the end of the bed and made his way to the dressed couch. He’d prepared it should Damen not have wanted to share a bed with him— and it was not meant for /Damen/. He never would have fit. Laurent had given himself the hope to sleep together, but at least this time, he’d planned for realism. What mattered is that everyone outside thought they had shared a bed.

That was all.

* * *

Ultimately, it was Laurent who left. Damen curled tighter into his ball, angry and puffy-eyed. He was so sick of this argument, of Laurent fighting him on obvious wrongs he had committed, claiming they were something else. He’d seen Laurent kiss Fynn, and it hadn’t been the other way around. Worse, Laurent had talked bad about him just for the sake of appeasing a supposedly drunk Fynn.

So they slept separately, Damen in bed and Laurent on the couch.

Exhaustion finally pushed Damen to sleep some hours later, but dawn was quick to arrive not long after. He slipped from bed in the early morning light and changed into a chiton, his boots, and his vambraces. He didn’t care if Laurent was awake or asleep--they had nothing to discuss.

He slipped out of the room without a word and took a deep breath to clear his lungs of the tension.

As Pallas fell into place behind him, Damen said nothing. Sleeping in the same bed wasn’t going to fix what Laurent had done, he just wondered how many nights it would take for Laurent to understand that.

* * *

Laurent slept out of necessity alone, and it never was for long. The comfort of the couch had nothing to do with it; it had everything to do with Laurent’s hurt and guilt.

He heard Damen rise in the morning, heard him ready himself and leave without a word or another kiss to the top of Laurent’s head, and Laurent said nothing. It wasn’t required or desired of him, so he stayed quiet, and only rose after Damen was gone.

And he crawled straight into the bed, for he /knew/ he needed to try to sleep more. His brain would be mush if he did not take care of himself, and he had not for some time. For once, the work could wait. All of Laurent’s current work hinged on The union, and without being so certain there would be one, he could take a few hours. It wouldn’t hurt anyone.

He pulled the covers over himself and turned onto his side, facing where Damen usually lay. His side of the bed smelled like him again, at least, and Laurent took a great deal of comfort in that.

He grabbed up Damen’s pillow, laid it a little closer to him, and took the next few hours to /try/ to sleep.

* * *

Fynn hadn’t intended to speak with Damianos until things had improved with him and Laurent, but when he saw Damen leaving he palace alone at dawn, he knew things had not gone well. His theory was further confirmed by the fact that Lazar was still standing outside Laurent’s bedchamber when Fynn returned from his morning walk (it was hard to sleep with his face still bruised).

So he found himself riding out on the training field on Eleanor, trying to keep his face schooled as Damianos glared at him the entire journey.

“I’d like to speak with you,” Fynn greeted with a nod.

“You should have sent a guard,” Damianos replied, eyes narrowed.

“I prefer to face my threats head on,” he returned evenly. He wasn’t going to let Damen harm Laurent any further, not when this was his fault. “I think it will be best for both of us if we stay mounted, yes? Harder for you to take a swing at me.”

Damen’s eyes burned, but he turned his horse and motioned for Fynn to lead the way.

Back at the palace, Lucien knocked on the door before slipping inside Laurent’s room with a Kempt breakfast and a note written in blue ink:

_I’ll make this right, I promise._

* * *

Laurent was at least out of the bed when the knock came. He was ghosting about the room, still in his night shirt, holding the book Damen had bought him in the market all those days ago.

His mind had gotten to be too much to handle alone, bombarding Laurent with a thousand other ways he could have gone about all of this, a million different things he could have said. At least with a book before him - especially one he had to translate as he went - his mind was somewhat preoccupied.

But not nearly enough to miss the knock.

Laurent turned as Lucien entered with the tray and the note, a little smile on his face.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Lucien murmured, dropping the tray on Laurent’s desk where his king stood closest to. “From the Herzog. Enjoy.” And he exited as Laurent picked up the note.

Note in hand, Laurent sank into his chair, forked at one of the strange Kemptian breakfast meats mindlessly as he read over the script in front of him.

He had...no idea what it could mean.

Laurent could translate the letter, yes, but he couldn’t help but wonder just what Fynn thought he could do. Damen’s line of guards were impenetrable— /Laurent/ could not pass them without permission from Damen. He had no idea what Fynn planned for so.

Unless he approached Damen at the same time he had urged Laurent to--at dinner. It was the one time Damen could not be guarded, the one time he would have to be kind to Fynn, at least in appearances.

So...Laurent placed down the note and started mentally preparing himself for, in his mind, whatever might happen at dinner, completely unaware at that moment that Fynn had already stupidly and boldly sought out Damianos on his own. Without guard. Without Laurent.

It certainly kept his mind busy for a while.

* * *

Damen hadn't expected anyone to come out into the middle of his training grid. The only real person he might have expected was Laurent, but instead a different blond was riding beside him, tempting him to practice his kill swing. Fynn had a lot of balls to show up here and demand a conversation like they were of equal rank. Damen was angry enough to accept the offer, only to have things to use against Laurent later.

"I would have killed you had it not been Laurent who initiated that kiss," Damen said once they were away from his men--all of whom were watching carefully, and Pallas was preparing to be turned off after Damen started a war with Kempt.

Fynn let out a snort. "Did Laurent explain the night to you?" he asked.

"I saw what I needed to see," Damen returned tartly.

Fynn reined Eleanor towad Damen. "He refused me," he snapped. That hurt wasn't yet gone in him, even after a week.

"That didn't look like a refusal to me." Damen's eyes were dark, murderous. Fynn wasn't afraid: he'd made a promise to Laurent. "He kissed you, he told you he loves you. He--"

"I wish he did," Fynn snarled. "I wish like hell that he wanted to kiss me. That he wanted me instead of you--that he loved me beyond friendship. And he would have, if you didn't exist."

Damen blinked, but steeled his face a heartbeat later. "You--"

"No," Fynn cut, seething now. He jabbed a finger at Damen. His guards gathered up their reins at the other end of the field. "I loved Auguste once, and I was refused. I grew from it. I courted Laurent thinking I would easily be able to tear him from his barbaric Akielon king, the Princekiller. I assumed you had power over him, controlled him. I'm still not convinced you don't, but Laurent has--"

Damen scowled. "Laurent spoke of me as exactly that. As a needy, demanding--"

"He did not!" Fynn shouted. Birds flung themselves from the nearby trees, sending a rain of snowfall from the branches. Damen's guard began trotting toward them until Damen put up a hand to stop them. "He said that /fondly./ I have known him since he was a boy and he has never desired someone as he does you. Our entire meeting yesterday was him asking /me/ how he could possibly make this up to you. He's been upset beyond belief, and yesterday he tried so hard--and you've abandoned him in his bed! Grow up!"

Damen felt himself simmer with rage, but only for a moment. Fynn was telling the truth. Damen didn't know him well at all, but he could see that Fynn was upset for Laurent, could see the care and love whenever he spoke his name. A man who loved Laurent would not be out in the field of his enemy trying to get him to return to the man /he/ loved.

"Watch your tongue," Damen snapped, squeezing the reins in his hands. "I'll excuse you this once. Never again. Get out of my sight."

"I'll see you at dinner," Fynn said, backing his horse away. "If you continue to hurt him, I am not afraid to expose the truth of what happened. It is what you deserve."

Damen didn't have time for a reply before Fynn's black mare was cantering back across the field toward the palace, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

It took a while for Laurent to make a decision on Fynn’s making this right, but after a few hours of mulling it over, he realised he didn’t /want/ Fynn to try. Laurent had, admittedly, been seduced by the idea of it, of someone else trying to talk sense into Damen, but it should not be Fynn. Damen had attacked Fynn, and Laurent would not have him out in danger again. Not over something Laurent had done. This was something he would have to face alone.

“Lucien,” Laurent ordered simply of his guard to go fetch the boy. Time and time again, Laurent had said Lucien need not act as a servant, but for the moment, he was the only person Laurent trusted to follow through on his request without trying to turn it against him.

“Your Majesty?” Lucien asked as he entered, nervous at being summoned. Laurent motioned first him to take a seat, and Lucien did so on the chaise in the corner.

“I would ask a favour of you this evening,” Laurent began, and Lucien was quick to nod, ready to agree no matter what his king asked of him. “Tonight at dinner, I would like you to sit between the Herzog and I. I ask you to keep him occupied. Talk to him about Kempt, learn their methods of entertainment.” Lucien seemed absolutely taken aback. He knew he did not /belong/ at the table, but even if the extra seat away from Damen could not stop Fynn from addressing him, the shock of a pet at the table would at least pull attention. “He is a kind man, and you will enter with me, so there will be no question to the legitimacy of your invitation.” Laurent gave him a moment to process before continuing.

“Tell Jord, of course. And here—“ He grabbed a small bag of coin from the corner of his desk, already prepared. “Have Jord take you to the market for something to wear. Meet me here at the dinner bell. We will talk together.”

He would need to act quickly. Dinner would come soon.

So Lucien ran for Jord, and Laurent set /that/ plan into motion while he moved to /finally/ change out of his night shirt for the day in prep for dinner.

Fynn should not have to clean up his mess, not when Laurent dragged him into it in the first place.

* * *

Damen left Crassus in charge of running drills and instead took Nikri for a long ride. He’d once dreamed of escaping through the fields he rode through, though now they were covered in snow. Nikri seemed to be at home in it now, trotting along and tossing his head. The cold air did well to clear his head and cool his anger.

Laurent didn’t love Fynn. He’d done the wrong thing in kissing him, but Laurent was young, Fynn was pretty, and Damen had done far more while he was with Jokaste (though she had actively encouraged it).

When he finally headed back to the palace, it was almost time for dinner. He returned his horse to the stables with a weight lifted in his heart but not in his shoulders. Laurent had been though too much. Damen owed him an apology for his harshness, for his cruel words.

So he dressed in his guest chambers, set his laurel crown, and strode down the hall to Laurent’s room, nodding to Lazar as he slipped past and into their bedchamber.

“Hi,” he greeted, hands clasped behind his back. “I was...would you like to walk to dinner together?”

* * *

Laurent nearly pulled his sword from the scabbard when Damen walked in and /invited him to dinner/.

He’d been readying himself for seeing Damen, mentally preparing himself for what he might have to endure tonight to make any sense of what he’d done to Damen...and then Damen had just /strode in/.

Laurent did not mean to look so untrustworthy. He simply had not expected such a thing, especially out of his stubborn betrothed, especially not after last night.

But he came around at a moments notice, greeted Damen with an equally stunted, “Hello,” all while trying to sound like this wasn’t an extraneous circumstance.

Laurent’s heart soared but his stomach sank, unsure if this would just be a repeat of the kiss to his head, if this would all crumble when he opened his mouth. But he had to open his mouth, he had to say something before this got weird.

“I would love to,” he managed, grabbing up his own circlet and placing it on his head.

“Lucien will be joining us tonight,” Laurent thought to warn Damen, seeing as this might be a little awkward now - and a lot for their guests to take in at once. “I’ve asked him to...entertain the Herzog,” it felt strange to talk about Fynn with such unfamiliarity, “Not—not by way of a pet, but as a...citizen. Of Vere.”

And because Laurent had promised to tell Damen his plans, and he would uphold it even at a time like this, he explained further.

“I meant to keep the Herzog busy. So that we might talk.” And Fynn would not be able to.

* * *

Damen wondered if Laurent had left his room at all today. The sheets were still rumpled from where he’d slept, but more so than he’d left them. Perhaps Laurent had decided to get some much needed rest. The braziers were low and the fire was out, so Damen assumed that yes, Laurent had spent the day alone.

He felt a little guilty for shocking him with his entry, but he felt announcing himself would have seemed pompous. Fynn’s scathing tone was still in his ears—that idiot. Damen still didn’t like him, and definitely didn’t like what Laurent had done, but in the haze of his anger he’d forgotten the core of their relationship. The fact that Laurent had chosen him, and Laurent had never chosen anyone. He’d been willing to put himself on trial and had shown selflessness Damen still saw in him to this day.

“Lucien?” Damen cocked his head. Bringing a pet to dinner as a guest was highly unusual, especially for Laurent. And using Lucien to keep Fynn busy sounded like a plan waiting to fail, and he didn’t see the purpose in it. Fynn had said his piece, and now he was waiting to strike Damen down if he damaged Laurent further.

“He will not kill me,” Damen offered. “Fynn. He wouldn’t dare.” He assumed Fynn had told Laurent all of it already, probably including Damen’s shocked and embarrassed reactions.

He crossed to Laurent and tugged gently at the ends of his jacket, securing them in place.

Then, with all the grace of an adolescent, Damen tipped up Laurent’s chin and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss that didn’t linger, and he cleared his throat when he pulled away.

“I forgot to give you one this morning. I didn’t want to wake you.”

* * *

“Lucien,” Laurent confirmed, gauging Damen’s response to it. He didn’t seem to see an issue with it, nor a reason if Laurent knew that tone, but that was okay. The secondary matter for Lucien being there was actually to learn about Kemptian slave values. Laurent would then learn about them from someone they would affect, and could perhaps use them to amend Vannes’ pet reformation plan.

It was not as important as keeping Fynn preoccupied, but Laurent tried to always stay a few steps ahead.

Even if he was starting to get the idea that he might be a step behind.

“Fynn wouldn’t kill you, no,” Laurent agreed, his brow creased, uncertain as to where that had come from. “He hasn’t any interest in that. Why—“

Damen tightened his laces in an act of assistance Laurent could not find the source of. Last night, Damen couldn’t /look/ at Laurent, but now, he could stand so close to Laurent? Could help him with his jacket?

Could /kiss/ him?

Warmth rushed through Laurent, and for a moment, things felt deceptively /right/. Even with as quick as the kiss was, the familiarity in it soothed Laurent...right up until the moment it was over, and Laurent actually realised what had just happened.

Laurent’s head genuinely cocked to the side the smallest bit as he regarded Damen, uncertain and wary, /knowing/ this wasn’t a trick, but being forced to wonder— And then Laurent let out a breath and nodded softly to himself before understanding.

Fynn had already spoken with Damen.

“Are you alright?” Laurent asked first and foremost. He was not certain as to what Fynn had said, and where Damen didn’t seem as terribly sad as he had been, Laurent needed to be certain. If Fynn had threatened Damen or said something out of turn, Laurent would deal with it. And then, he would need to make sure Fynn was okay, though he had not heard otherwise.

In fact, /no one/ had told him anything about it, which Laurent could gather meant it happened in the Akielon camp...which meant Fynn went head on in there alone.

Idiot.

* * *

The kiss was what Damen had needed. It was a breath to the flame that had been dwindling in him, and assured him that he was on the right path. Fynn was an asshole, but he’d been truthful. Even if he deserved a lashing for being so forthcoming with a king. Damen liked to think himself a grown man, one with success and promise and a kingdom at his feet. But Fynn had pointed out that perhaps he wasn’t so grown after all.

“Me? I’m fine,” he answered, resting his hands at Laurent’s waist. “You have very stupid and persuasive...friends.” He looked down at his feet. “And perhaps an equally stupid lover.”

He wasn’t ready to apologize for it all, though he was sorry for saying hurtful things to Laurent. Damen was still unsure how to proceed through the murky waters of Laurent kissing Fynn after he’d promised not to, even if it hadn’t been as it appeared.

“I hope you haven’t been locked away all day,” Damen murmured. “Tell me you’ve at least eaten.”

* * *

Laurent might have been having a hard time staying up.

This was so sudden - he’d not expected any sort of progress with Damen for days, if it came at all. He could not be certain what Fynn had said, or done, or maybe even dealt, but Laurent was grateful. He was so /grateful/. Damen was close to him again, and though this did not put them in the clear, it was a nice reprieve to what they’d had recently.

Damen had referred to himself as Laurent’s lover again, and that alone could have put Laurent on the floor. He’d not been so at ease, so relieved in /weeks/.

Perhaps they were meant for this.

“I had breakfast,” Laurent confirmed what he could there, his arms going to settle around Damen’s neck. He still moved slowly, touched gingerly should he not be welcomed just yet, but Damen did not push him away.

“And you?” Laurent asked. “You’ve been eating? For all the training you’ve been doing, yes?” He pulled back to look at Damen, as if there might be some hint if malnutrition or self-punishment there, but he didn’t see any. Damen seemed to be a little more.../mature/ on that front than Laurent had, and he could say he was embarrassed about that. Not that it showed on him, but Damen had been vigorously training. Laurent had...sulked.

* * *

Damen couldn’t help but smile as he felt Laurent relax under his hands. He hated seeing him so upset, even if Damen felt he’d been justified in calling out Laurent’s misdeed. He still didn’t fully understand how kissing Fynn would resolve any kind of past wrong committed by Auguste, but he supposed that didn’t matter now.

“I’ve been eating,” Damen confirmed, pulling Laurent to him for an embrace. He rested his cheek on the top of Laurent’s head, arms wrapping around him more fully to keep him close. “We’ll have to make sure you have plenty of food this evening.”

It did feel strange to have gone from avoidance to affection in such a short time, but he wanted this. He wanted Laurent close, the smell of his perfumed oils, the tension falling away.

“Tomorrow we should ride out into the country and discuss things there,” Damen murmured. “Arles isn’t the place for it.”

* * *

It took Laurent always a beat longer to fall into the affection, for he saw it as something to lose now. What had been an unprompted kiss to his head yesterday had ended in a hopelessness he did not think they’d come back from. He had gone through emotional whiplash, and he feared doing so again in such a short amount of time.

He still felt that he owed so much to Damen, still felt like he had apologising to do, and he still would follow through with it, would show Damen his love, would show how he had grown...it just might take him a few moments to catch up on that.

“Things like your haircut?” Laurent asked after a moment, reaching up to fluff Damen’s hair at an attempt at lightening his own mood. He ran his fingers over the short sides with a little smile. He would warm up to it.

Before he could draw out the joke, a knock sounded signalling Lucien’s arrival. Laurent did not let go of Damen, but he did loosen his hold should Damen not want to be seen like this right away, and he invited Lucien in.

And...Jord, who looked none too happy behind the pet.

Lucien had chosen clothes in the Akielon styling, a chiton of his own in a nice red colour with gold jewellery. He did not look at all shy, but he did seem a bit uneasy, his eyes darting to Jord every so often.

“That is a beautiful chiton,” Laurent began, but /Jord/ cut him off, eyes only leaving Laurent to process the Akielon King was standing there with him. He’d unpack that later.

“Your Majesty,” Jord cut, and he was /combative/, clearly ready to have an argument. It was an odd sight, and Laurent took a step away from Damen to address it.

“I—“ Jord started, feeling the pressure of both kings in the room, but following through anyway. “I want to know your plans for him. He— Lucien is my...charge, and—“

Jord thought Laurent meant to give away Lucien. He could see it in Jord’s stance, in his eyes. Lucien was beginning to give the same expression, a fear and a hurt that made it clear they both thought similar things despite Laurent’s conversation with Lucien earlier. And Jord had every reason to believe it of Laurent. He had been in a horrible mood these past days, and he had a history with Jord, after all.

“He will be speaking with the Herzog about servants and orderlies as an advisor to the new pet reformation,” Laurent explained easily. “It is my goal to compare those practices of Vere, Akielos, and Kempt, and to—“ He turned to Damen. “—discuss a change in the lifestyle after the union.”

Because Laurent had still /sort of/ been moving forward in hopes he would still be married to Damen.

* * *

Damen cocked a brow. “You don’t like it? This was the style I kept it in after I returned to Ios.” He warmed at the feel of Laurent’s fingers in his hair and just as he was about to lean in for another kiss, Lucien arrived. With a very unhappy Jord. Damen pulled away just slightly, but didn’t drop his hands.

Seeing Lucien in a chiton made Damen’s stomach twist. He knew Lucien was Veretian, from somewhere close to the border with Akielos. Likely a product of either Akielons moving across the border or perhaps a slave. Regardless, the last time he’d been in Akielon clothing it had been to make a mockery of Damen, and he couldn’t help but feel that the court wouldn’t miss that either.

He was so focused on the outfit that he didn’t notice the source of the argument between Jord and Laurent.

“He will be the only one in a chiton besides myself and the few men who attend the court dinners,” Damen said, trying not to make Lucien feel uncomfortable for his choice. “Is that wise?"

* * *

“Lucien is allowed to wear whatever he wishes,” Laurent replied easily, and he did step away from Damen then, just so he could approach Lucien. Jord took a step forward as if in protection, but Laurent only gave Lucien a once over with a nod.

“Did you pick this?” Laurent asked of Lucien, and the boy nodded, looking down at himself.

“Should I not have?” he asked, and Laurent shook his head, gave Lucien a reassuring pat.

“You absolutely should have,” Laurent assured him. “It looks wonderful on you. If you would not mind waiting a moment, perhaps I should wear one as well? It will take a moment to change—“

“I could help,” Lucien spoke up, bowing his head just so. “It would be no matter at all.”

Laurent turned to Damen with a questioning look, as if asking for permission. He not even thought to do so because this would be...a /lot/ on their people already. But Laurent did not care so long as Damen was fine with it.

* * *

Damen wasn’t so sure. On one hand, it would look as though Laurent was taking the idea of their union seriously, but he still recalled the way he and Fynn had spoken about the Akielon choice of dress or lack thereof. Fynn had already seen Laurent in a chiton, yet they had still decided to joke about it.

He didn’t think Laurent had the right to say those things and then try to make a statement in a chiton.

“I would prefer if you didn’t,” Damen said. He didn’t want to deal with the questions from his men, or the looks. Lucien was already pushing the limits of his tolerance.

“You would be too cold. I recall you saying how scarce the fabric is,” he added in extra warning. He didn’t want to make this into a fight, but he wouldn’t have a chiton worn as simply a statement when Laurent had made fun of them just a week prior.

* * *

Lucien ducked his head, clearly feeling in the wrong now that Damen had asked /Laurent/ not to where a chiton. Lucien thought he’d been doing the right thing, had merely wanted to be comfortable and make his own statement on his feelings towards the union.

He turned to Jord, uncertain of what to do, and Laurent could tell by the way that Lucien crossed an arm over himself that they had officially made him uncomfortable.

Warning be damned, Laurent couldn’t let the boy feel that way.

“Did I say that?” Laurent asked, already untying the laces of his jacket. “Certainly if you can handle the cold in it, I can as well.” He shed his jacket, folded it over the chair, and began at the laces at his neck as he moved to grab a chiton from the chest. He had worn one before - probably where Lucien had gotten the idea to buy one.

“And we cant let Lucien outshine me, can we?” Laurent went on, hammering in the nail to what might be his coffin on such a foolish issue. He wouldn’t let Lucien feel wrong for something he had brought on.

“I would never,” Lucien was quick to say, and Jord placed his hand on his pet’s shoulder.

“Call it payback for that jacket I made you wear,” Laurent smiled at Damen, warily, hoping they could just...not fight about /this/.

* * *

Damen didn’t like making Lucien upset, but he did worry about how this would look. And it annoyed him that Laurent was going against his wishes and wearing a chiton anyway. Things were not totally repaired between them, and Damen didn’t think this was the right way to go about fixing it.

He didn’t smile at Laurent’s teasing. He didn’t smile as Laurent changed from his Veretian laces to the simple silk of his royal chiton, embroidered with Dracus’s gold embroideries. He didn’t even smile when he thought about how easy it had been to lift the hem and fuck Soren onto the mattress while Laurent wore a very similar chiton--that they had ruined.

Instead he said nothing and waited.

He didn’t care if Lucien was made uncomfortable by it. Veretians wore chitons to make fun of his people and his culture, Damen had found. Lucien has been forced to wear one and whipped for it, and everyone in the dining hall would remember that moment the second they all entered.

No, Damen didn’t think this would end well at all.

* * *

“There,” Laurent announced for Lucien’s sake as he stepped out in his own chiton - once more noticing that Damen truly had made it so that Laurent’s were cut shorter than average. Even Lucien’s in the same style was a touch longer, but Laurent did not mind it. He was comfortable, Lucien was clearly more comfortable, and there they were.

“Dinner?” Laurent asked Damen, as if he might have changed his mind. Jord had taken a moment with Lucien, undoubtedly to give him a few hints and tricks on having dinner with royalty, so Laurent had a moment with Damen.

He wrapped his arms around Damen’s waist as Damen had with him just moments ago, closing the world around them for just a moment.

“Not over a chiton,” Laurent asked of him quietly, looking up at him. “Please.”

Jord kissed the top of Lucien’s head and then, with a little slap to his rear, sent him off. The small giggle caught Laurent off guard, and he turned from Damen for just a moment to look over at a smiling Lucien.

He’d done the right thing, and after a week of being an absolute tyrant, it felt good.

* * *

Damen wasn’t yet in a place where he felt like Laurent could convince him to drop things like this just by holding him close. But the warmth of his body was nice, and the exposed skin of his shoulder and collarbone did plenty to remind Damen why he had chitons made for Laurent.

“This is nearing the edge,” Damen said, but he wouldn’t fight. He just didn’t appreciate this, nor the way Jord sent Lucien off, like his chiton made his ass more slappable. Damen loved seeing Laurent in his chiton because he’d bought them as gifts for him, and yes, he looked very attractive while wearing one. But Jord seemed to see it as something only for sexual appeal.

Damen set his jaw and took Laurent’s hand to start walking to their meal. Pallas raised his eyebrows upon seeing the three of them, but after a quick glance to Damen he fell into line behind them.

Fynn intercepted them in the hallway by accident and couldn’t hide his look of surprise at the sight of Laurent in another chiton, and the boy they had with them, who looked uncannily like Damen. He bowed his greeting and stepped aside to let them by, not daring to look either of them in the eye as he did so. He could only handle defending himself against Damen once in a day.

* * *

“I’ll not push any further,” Laurent murmured quietly, and he hoped it was a promise he could keep. He was not /trying/ to fight, after all. It just...happened.

At least he had one way of helping his cause when Fynn stepped out. Laurent would need to talk to Fynn later, would need to thank him for speaking with Damen - and would not need to make his effort pointless - but for now, he needed to do as planned.

Which meant busying Fynn and keeping Damen in the best spirits he could.

“Lucien,” Laurent said as he turned his head, giving Damen’s hand a little reassuring squeeze. “This is the Herzog. Fynn, this is Lucien. He would like to discuss matters of Kempt with you over dinner this evening at my request.”

He could not even spare Fynn a grateful look at this moment for fear of setting Damen off. He would, in time, and he and Damen could discuss the union that Vere and Kempt would have (and therefore Akielos as well), but not until Laurent had a better foundation with Damen. He could not risk losing this again so soon, especially when he’d barely gotten him back.

* * *

Fynn blinked, not expecting to be addressed. Laurent hadn’t brought any guests to court since Fynn had been in Vere, so it seemed highly unusual. The name sounded familiar and the boy looked familiar, but Fynn couldn’t say he’d ever met him. So he extended a hand and gave a small nod to Lucien, who stared at his hand for a moment before shaking it.

Not a noble, then.

“Are you from Damianos’s camp?” Fynn asked in Akielon.

Lucien merely blinked at him.

“You don’t speak Akielon, I take it,” Fynn said in Veretian.

“Oh, no,” he replied, blushing. “But His Majesty wanted me to discuss pets and slaves with you as they relate to Kempt.”

Fynn glanced at Laurent. This young man was no noble, and certainly too young to be anyone of authority on pets in Vere.

“Well,” Fynn said. “Let’s sit and discuss, then.”

Damen flexed his jaw. “He shouldn’t be wearing a chiton and discussing Veretian policy,” he muttered. “Especially when he looks Akeilon.”

* * *

“He is not discussing Veretian policy,” Laurent replied very easily as they turned down the corridor that would lead to the dining hall. “He is discussing /Kemptian/ policy. And he is merely excited about the union. He chose it on his own. Let him be at peace.”

Peace they certainly would not see after this dinner, Laurent was sure of it.

Fynn had taken to the idea, and was at least entertaining Lucien in the conversation. Laurent wanted to hear it straight from a pet, what he might enjoy, and what he feared. It was unorthodox, but Laurent was a twenty-one year old spare heir - who was only king because his own uncle had killed off the line - building a union with his nation’s worst enemy.

He was allowed to be unorthodox.

If anyone cared that their king was in a chiton, it was lost to everyone just /staring/ at Damen and Laurent entering together. As Laurent had thought. Perhaps it was better to make three scenes at once, give them all too much to process so that he might have a moment of that ever-elusive peace.

* * *

Damen took his seat beside Laurent and propped his head on his hand. He was hungry, but with everyone’s eyes on him and Laurent, he didn’t have much of an appetite. Everyone was whispering about their chitons made him uncomfortable. In Akielos, they never talked so much about Veretian clothing beyond how suffocating it must feel.

He ate a few pieces of grouse, noting once again that it had been cooked in olive oil. This time it didn’t bring him nearly as much joy. But it did bring some.

As Mathe made asinine comments about the effects of drafts in such an outfit (thinly veiled under the guise of a question about air through fabric), Damen had an elbow on the table, his face resting on his hand.

His other hand was under the table, slipping underneath Laurent’s chiton and gripping his inner thigh. He was fairly certain the only person who would be able to see him was Lucien, who was engrossed in conversation with Fynn.

Damen gave Laurent a sidelong look, amused, the slightest smirk on his lips.

“I’m flattered you think us Akielons to be so thick-skinned and hardy,” Damen muttered. “Or are you suggesting we are somehow incapacitated? I would love to step in the ring with you to test that theory.”

He thumbed at Laurent’s inner thigh, his smirk still lingering at the corner of his lips.

* * *

When it came to the three absolute shows Laurent had put on for dinner tonight, the hottest topic was definitely he and Damen side-by-side again, not talking, but not at all as cold to each other they as they had been. Laurent did not seem like he could snap someone’s neck at any moment, and to be perfectly honest, neither did Damen. They were both coexisting better than they had in days, and it showed.

So, of course, rumours flew as to why that might be.

But Laurent had his attention split between Damen at his right and Lucien at his left, making sure both were safe and content. All the while, Laurent ate - more than he had in days, which admittedly was not /much/, but it was a step in the right direction. He did slow down however when found himself a bit distracted by a very warm hand /under/ his clothing. Laurent kept his expression cool and unchanging, his eyes sliding over to Damen, brow quirked ever so at his little act.

“And I thought you suddenly did not like me in a chiton,” Laurent said over the rim of his glass with a smirk. He took a sip, downed it with a little difficulty when Damen began to thumb at his skin.

Then, aloud, Laurent said, “Damianos, truly, councillor Mathe is clearly not made for physical activity. What have I told you about fair fights?”

* * *

“I never said that,” Damen murmured, dragging his thumb a little more insistently along Laurent’s inner thigh. Touching Laurent still felt new. A week apart had been awful for him, as Dmaen /was/ a physical person. He’d not been touched by much of anyone for a week, and certainly not in an affectionate way.

Damen ate more of his meal as Mathe fumbled for a response, sputtering about differences in climate as though that somehow made Veretians less capable of wearing chitons. Juerre got quite the kick out of it, and soon everyone in the council was poking fun at Mathe’s digging himself a hole.

Damen did finally move his hand from Laurent, only to grab Laurent’s hand to bring to his lips. Fynn was waxing on about the growing power of pets in Kempt and Damen was tired of hearing his stupid accent. His Veretian was still almost impossible to understand.

“Let’s leave,” Damen said quietly against the back of Laurent’s palm. He wasn’t going to leave it up for debate, so he stood, keeping hold of Laurent’s hand. Conversation stopped at once, all eyes on the kings as Damen gave Laurent’s hand a squeeze.


End file.
